


Knight of Faith

by Idhren



Category: Batman (Comics), Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, Philosophy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-08-27
Updated: 2011-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idhren/pseuds/Idhren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>YAHF. Alfred would be proud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knight of Infinite Resignation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The crew of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, as do various references to particular quotes. Likewise, Batman is owned by DC Comics, and ultimately Warner Bros. This work is intended for non-commercial purposes only, and is otherwise covered by a Creative Commons Attribution license. Specials thanks go to Kierkegaard and Christopher M. Drohan.

**Chapter One: Knight of Infinite Resignation**

 

He woke to dull pain. Beeping. His sides ached. His head felt like someone had tried to drill a hole through it. Xander wondered what he'd done now.

The light wasn't bad, once he got his eyes open. He was in a small, bland room--must be the hospital, judging by the IV drip taped to his arm. And if he was in the hospital, there should be--yes, he could hear her soft snoring now. Willow. Bestest of buds, fierce guardian of the defenseless. Where would he be without her?

He slowly rolled his head to one side, and saw Willow sitting slumped in a chair by his bed. A little drool was gathering on one side of her mouth. If only he had a camera! He'd started a collection of blackmail photos with Jesse back in fifth grade. Still, she was sleeping on the job.

"Wil--low," he whispered.

She shifted, and made that familiar little grunting noise.

"Wil--low."

"Mmm?"

"Willow!"

"Gah!" There was some very satisfying flailing of limbs before Willow gathered her dignity about her. Willow and dignity had an on-again, off-again type relationship, and it was always funny to watch.

"Xander! You're awake, I'm so glad you're awake. You made us very worried, Mister I-want-to-be-Batman-for-Halloween." Her face began to crumple.

"Oh, Will."

"The doctor said you had a subdural hematoma, and that they would have to drill a hole in your skull to relieve the intracranial pressure and suck out the hematoma. And if, if you hadn't fainted right after Batman-you smashed the Janus statue and started twitching, we wouldn't have taken you to the hospital, and if we hadn't taken you to the hospital, they wouldn't have done a CAT scan, and if they hadn't done a CAT scan, they wouldn't have found the subdural hematoma in time and done surgery and you would have died!"

"Whoa, slow down, Will. Stop with the panic and the big words. I'm still chillin' with d'living. Somewhat painfully. What happened? The last thing I remember was the principal we all know and hate ordering us to escort small impressionable children on their quest for sugary goodness."

Willow sniffled. "You went as Batman, you poopy head. That's what happened. Remember Ethan's? Well, it turns out the man who gave us a discount on our costumes wasn't just some nice, friendly guy. He was a wiggins-worthy evil guy—who used to know Giles, oddly enough—who turned us all into our costumes. Oh yeah, not Cordelia, but she got her costume at Partytown."

"You mean I became Batman? Me, Batman? Ye gods and mini-skirt goddesses. I was cool for a day. Night. Period of time."

"And I was a real ghost. I was all ghosty. I could pass straight through people and walls and everything. And Buffy became an eighteenth century noblewoman. She screamed and fainted as soon as she saw you."

"That's flattering. Not."

"You didn't know who I was. That was really scary. And when Buffy woke up again, she called you a demon and ran away and got hit by a car before we could stop her and broke her arm. We didn't have a Slayer, and there were all these monster kids running around. You were gonna kill them with your Batarangs, Xander. I didn't know what to do.

"But Batman was amazing. He figured out that he wasn't really Batman as almost as soon as I told him he was you. He took charge right away. And the way he could fight! He was like a dark, growly Buffy, except not a girl. And had pointy ears. And a utility belt. And he was so serious.

Willow looked down at her hands. Xander let out his breathe softly, watching her.

"He carried Buffy after she fainted again, and defended her from four vampires at once. At first he tore right through them, and then they started getting punches in, and I had to tell him how to kill them. I told him not to get you hurt. I told him he was only renting your body, and it didn't belong to him. And that he just better not, buster."

Xander had to smile at that. It was just so…so Willow. Fearless when she forgot to be afraid.

"He said he was sorry, Xander. But he also said that if you," Willow screwed her face up in concentration, and her voice deepened, "if you were friend enough to inspire such loyalty, if you were brave enough to be Batman in public, you were strong enough to bear the consequences."

"Anyway, we went to Buffy's house, and left her upstairs with Angel guarding the door downstairs. And that's when Cordelia showed up. Being all Cordelia, and not in a cat way. Batman asked us all where we got our costumes, then wanted directions to Ethan's, and then told me to go get anyone I knew who might be able to unravel the spell. And Giles and I got there just in time to see the end of it."

She paused. "I'm glad he was on our side, Xander. He was, it's hard to explain. Brutal. Terrifying. Comforting, all at once. And then he was gone, armor and all, and you were left behind in your Batman costume. Having a seizure. Making me worry so much I felt like my insides were burning."

She poked him in the arm.

"Ow! Wil--low…"

"Don't you ever do that to me again! You hear me? Never! I lost Jesse to Sunnydale, I'm not going to lose you too."

She was crying now, and Xander felt his own eyes begin to burn.

"Willow, Willow. I wanna say it will all be okay, but I can't. 'Cause you know what this town is like. There'll be a vamp, or a demon, or heck, even Jack O'Toole."

She sniffled, but smiled just a touch the way Xander knew she would. They had several running jokes about his complete and shameless fear of the school psycho.

"Hey, there's the sunshine. 'Here comes the sun, do-do-do-do, here comes the sun. And I say—'"

"'It's all right.' It's not all right. But I guess it's not entirely your fault."

"So, how's the rest of the gang? How's the Buffinator? She dealing well with the broken arm?"

"Buffy's a grumpy Buffy. She's complaining that she didn't break her right arm, so she can't get out of doing her school—oh! I almost forgot. Homework!"

"Thanks, Willow. It's what I always wanted," Xander said drily.

"I did all your homework for the weekend. It's already Sunday, and you won't be leaving the hospital for at least another five or six days. I'll take notes, and I'll go over everything with you, and—"

"Chill, Will. My academic success is in your hands, but there's never been very much of it. It's no big deal. But thank you. You know I appreciate it."

They chatted for a long time about nothing in particular. Giles dropped by, and assured him that he'd help Xander's parents foot the bill. Buffy came, making an awkward apology for not playing a more active role Friday night. Even Cordelia showed up, much to Xander's surprise. She was brusque, but the sentiment gave him a warm glow. Nurses came in and out, and his doctor too.

After calling his mother, and assuring that yes, he was fine, no, it didn't matter that she couldn't come visit because of her phobia, no, he didn't remember how he got injured, yes, he'd be home within the week, yes, the doctors said he would probably have a full and rapid recovery, actually, the bruised ribs would probably take longer to heal, yes, Willow would help him study, no, Tony didn't need to be bothered, yes, I love you too, Xander lay back feeling oddly calm.

He'd almost died the other night. Sixteen, and almost dead. Some part of him knew it was always a possibility, even expected it sooner rather than later, but still. He had a sudden resurgence of awe for Buffy. She'd faced the Master, she'd even died, however briefly, and she still went back out, night after night, knowing what it was like to die. Knowing that being the Slayer was a death sentence.

He'd found a dead sparrow once. Morbid curiosity had led him to grabbing a plastic bag, and picking it up. It had been so light, so fragile for something once so full of life. It was a terrible knowledge, the weight of death. Buffy had been heavier, but he'd refused to let her die, refused to comprehend or accept that same emptiness and fragility.

What did Buffy do? She lived. She had issues, but she lived. She bore up, she went on, she had more of a life than he did. She was strong, inside and out.

Batman said he was strong. Take that, Larry! Batman said he was a good friend like it meant more than just being the least of his friends. Batman said he was brave. That one, Xander had some serious doubts about. He'd always feared he was a sissy, no matter how much he'd bluffed and blustered. But maybe he could change. Maybe he could be worth something after all.

Batman said he was strong. It gave him a warm, full feeling, as if he'd just eaten a whole pepperoni pizza by himself and was now residing in happy food coma land. He'd been Batman for a night, and paid the price. He'd done something damn manly, and his friends knew it. All right, that part had been all Batman. But the wounds were his.

He touched his head bandages gingerly. It hurt more than last time. He should probably pull for the nurse. Would girls be impressed? He had a hard time figuring them out. Cordelia had screamed when he'd shown her his cool unbroken thumbnail that had fallen off back in third grade. Having it accidentally slammed in the car door had so been worth it. It had been a bit disgusting, and come to think of it, he had been hoping she'd scream. Was having a hole drilled in your head disgusting too? He thought it was pretty cool, but then again, he was a guy.

He almost died. Who would remember him? Who would care? What would they say at his funeral? Here lies the man who was Batman. He was born a sissy, but he died cool. He had good friends. He fought nightly with the forces of darkness, and thus did not have time for schoolwork. Even though his best friend continued to pull straight A's. He died of his wounds in a blaze of glory, rather than grow old and work at a drive-through window.

Or if Cordelia was saying it, Here lies a loser. He was brave in his own stupid way.

He could live with that. He knew she cared.

 

"Hello, Alexander."


	2. Dark Knight (Pt. 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The crew of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, as do various references to particular quotes. Likewise, Batman is owned by DC Comics, and ultimately Warner Bros. This work is intended for non-commercial purposes only, and is otherwise covered by a Creative Commons Attribution license. Specials thanks go to Kierkegaard and Christopher M. Drohan.
> 
> Cross-posted at 'Twisting the Hellmouth'

**Chapter Two: Dark Knight**

Part One

 

"It's Xander, not Alexander. Wait. Who said that? Where—Ow." Note to self: sudden movements are of the bad. He was pretty sure ribs weren't supposed to crackle like that.

"Can you see me?"

The voice was a smooth, confident baritone. It also seemed to be coming from right next to Xander's ear.

"Not big with the seeing at the moment, but definitely believing. I'll take 'Are you a ghost?' for five-hundred, please."

"I can't say for sure. Frankly," the voice deepened, acquiring a strangely familiar rasp, "I wasn't expecting to survive breaking the statue."

The statue? Hadn't Willow said something…_glowing eyes from double-headed stone, thrust back through the air by sudden invisible pressure, pain, my head, ringing, surging towards the mage, reaching out my black gauntlets to—_

"Holy Halloween, Batman!" Xander squeaked, and blushed.

"At your service," said Batman.

"Wow. I can't believe it. This is incredible! The Caped Crusader! The World's Greatest Detective! I've got the goddamn Batman himself in my head! I've always wanted to meet you. You're one of my biggest heroes. You've been my hero ever since I started reading the comics back in second grade. I had this whole elaborate plan for how our conversation was supposed to go. You were going to be so impressed. And now I can't remember what I wanted to say. It was probably something stupid. I was pretty dorky back in second grade. I still am. Um. Please stop me now."

"There are comics?"

"Movies and TV shows too. I wonder what Batman you are. Are you from Earth-One? Frank Miller's Batman? Tim Burton's? Did Jason Todd die in your universe? Who's the current Robin? I have an arrangement with the comic book store where I can read all the new issues in exchange for occasional chores. I can tell you your future. I can tell you everything that's happening in Gotham right now!"

"I don't want to know. It's not my Gotham anymore. I'm not their Batman."

"Gee, I didn't think—I'm sorry. This must be hard for you."

There was a pause. Finally, Batman said, "Thank you." His voice sounded strange.

"So, ah, what now?

"Keep your voice down," Batman replied, back to his initial light baritone. "I don't want anyone to hear us."

"Uh, okay. That makes sense. Sunnydale is amnesia-land, but I don't want people to think I'm crazy. I'm not crazy, am I?"

"Everyone's a little crazy. Some more so than others," said Batman. The man who regularly dressed up as a giant bat. Right. Wrong person to ask there.

"You know so much about me," Batman continued, "and I know so little about you. Tell me about yourself."

Xander recounted the basics. Family, Hellmouth, Scoobies. He tried to frame it all in terms Batman would find familiar.

"Buffy's like our Superman. She can't fly or leap buildings in a single bound, but she's got superhuman strength and she can sure kick vampire butt. She's the Chosen One, the one girl in all the world, yadda, yadda, yadda. Willow is our Oracle; she's a whiz hacker and a darn good researcher. Cordelia? She's definitely Catwoman. Giles is our crusty old Alfred—"

"Don't call him that," Batman growled suddenly, ferociously. His tone sent an icy chill sweeping through Xander's body. "Alfred is a good man. One of the best."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Please. I didn't mean anything by it."

Silence.

"Anyone else?"

"Uh, well, Angel's Azrael. He's a vampire, but he has a soul, and he broods like a heavyweight champion training for a second gold in the Brooding Olympics. I hate him, but I gotta admit he's on our side. There's Ms. Calendar, I guess. I have trouble pinning her down. A really weak Zatanna Zatara? A hot, young, technopagan Dr. Leslie Thompkins? Doesn't really fit. Ooo, maybe the Silver Sorceress. Nah, that's a stretch too. It's like she's part of the group, but not part at the same time."

"And who are you?"

"Me? I'm a nobody. A Jimmy Olsen at best." He bit his lip; Batman was supposed to be inscrutable, but this was ridiculous! How was anyone supposed to read someone who only existed in their head? "I, I'd like to be a Robin."

"You didn't dress as Robin."

"I'm not gay! Uh, you know. Not that Robin's gay, or anything. It's just the spandex. Which I wore. I mean, it was Halloween, you're supposed to dress as you aren't." Who was he kidding? He wasn't Robin material. He wasn't a genius or a world-class acrobat. And he didn't want to be another Jason Todd.

"Who are you? Why should I train you?"

But what did he have to lose?

"I'm like you," Xander said. "I swore to avenge the death of one of my best friends. I swore to kill every single vamp in Sunnydale, and to make it safe for ordinary people to live here. If you don't train me, I'll—I'll die sooner rather than later.

"I'm not strong like Buffy. I'm not smart like Will. But I'll do anything, anything to keep my remaining friends alive. I won't stop fighting. I can't. I'm like you. I want to protect the innocent. I need to be powerful so I can always do what's right. I'd like to be cool too, but I'd settle for being someone who has a fighting chance.

"Help me, Batman."

"You can't be Robin," Batman said, and Xander felt his heart constrict so tightly his head went light, and his vision began to pixelate like an out-of-tune TV screen.

"Sunnydale isn't Gotham," said Batman. "This is no place for a Robin. But I will train you."

"What?" Xander croaked. Air, sweet air. When had he stopped breathing?

"I will train you on one condition."

"What? I mean, what condition?"

"Don't ever tell anyone I still exist. Not your parents, not your friends, nobody. And Xander? Even in your own head, don't call me Batman. Call me…Bruce."


	3. Dark Knight (Pt. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The crew of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, as do various references to particular quotes. Likewise, Batman is owned by DC Comics, and ultimately Warner Bros. This work is intended for non-commercial purposes only, and is otherwise covered by a Creative Commons Attribution license. Specials thanks go to Kierkegaard and Christopher M. Drohan.
> 
> Crossposted at 'Twisting the Hellmouth'

**Chapter Two: Dark Knight**

Part Two

Having his own personal Batman, uh, Bruce in his head was not always as awesome as Xander initially thought it would be. For one thing, he wanted Xander to do his own homework.

* * *

"Seriously, this was not what I was expecting when I signed up for Bat-camp. Where's the sweat? Where's the action?"

"You're still in the hospital, Xander. This is not the time to push your body to new heights. It is an opportunity to plan and hone your mind."

"But I'm still not seeing the connection. How does English homework help me kill vampires? I can already quip with the best of them. Seventy percentage quippage today, high chance of unfortunate metaphors sometime this afternoon. See? I'm halfway to being Buffy already!"

"You will be changing. Your friends will need to see reasons why. It is plausible that a near-death experience would cause you to think more seriously about your future. If you spend more time on your homework and your grades improve, your friends will excuse other changes in your behavior. They will not question what you do when you spend more time alone."

"C'mon, I'm not good at this type of thing. Give me a book, and I'll look at the pretty pictures, or pick out the Sumerian words for death and destruction, but I'm not smart enough to be good at school. I work hard for my D+'s. I'm passing. Why can't that be enough?"

"Xander."

"I don't know if I can do this, Bruce."

"Ask for help."

"Willow's already my study buddy. You've seen her come in, all psyched about school. She's a good teacher. Better than my real teachers. If she can't help me do well, who can?"

"You could ask me."

* * *

For another, Xander had nowhere to hide. Bruce claimed he could 'detach' himself from Xander, but he couldn't go far, only about ten feet or so, not even far enough to reach the door to the room. And he had to stay within what passed for direct line of sight with Xander.

"I'm wigged. I'm officially freaked out. I don't want you watching me go to the bathroom like some kinda Peeping Tom! Even just the thought of you being there is creepy. D'ya think you can turn around or something? How will I know you've turned around? Ohmigod, what if you can't turn around?"

"I've been experimenting," said Bruce. "I can dim my awareness to the point of just using your senses. I can even go deeper, focus in on what is going on in one part of your body and let everything else fade out. That may have other uses in the future."

Xander focused in on the important part. "So if I tell you to go away, you'll go away?"

"It's difficult to maintain, but I'm improving. Trust me, I will always do so when I think you need the space; I have no interest in watching you use the restroom."

* * *

In some ways, though, it was everything Xander had hoped for and more. Ever since Jesse had died, he had closed off a part of himself. He loved Willow, but there were some things he just couldn't tell her. And there was a limit to how much he shared with Buffy; she was still new, and besides, she was a girl. A girl he liked.

With Bruce, he could say anything. He had someone just for him, someone who was more experienced in the ways of the world, someone who could answer certain nagging questions. Even when they weren't talking, it was just nice to know he was there.

Life was looking up.

* * *

"I walked your body across the room last night."

"What," said Xander.

"You heard me," said Batman. "I took possession of your body, swung your legs over to the side of the bed, got up, and walked across the room and back."

Batman possessed his body. Someone took control of his body and used it and he didn't even know. He felt violated; he tasted acid. Someone he trusted took over his body. _Well, guess who just got mean._ He could have hurt his friends again. _Come on, Slayer. I like it when you're scared._ Xander shied away from the memory; that wasn't him. He would never. _Which means I won't have to look at your pasty face again._ But it was him; he had been too weak to stop Her.

"You didn't."

Everything the hyena had done was his fault.

"I did. And I enjoyed it."

"You dared--I can't believe this. I trusted you. I thought--Bruce was never real, was he? You just pretended to be Bruce so I would let my guard down!"

"You don't appreciate what you have, Xander. You have a body of your own, you still have your own life, and all you do is complain about your homework. You're weak."

This had to be a nightmare; there was no other explanation. Batman possessed his body. Was this what shock felt like? Batman possessed his body. He could be trapped in the back of his head for the rest of his life, watching helplessly, trapped, not able to do anything. Batman possessed his body. He almost died; Batman said he was strong. Batman said he was weak. Batman possessed his body. This was worse than death.

"You're not even Batman, are you? This isn't something Batman would do. I'm not some criminal!"

The Dark Knight. 'Brutal. Terrifying. Comforting, all at once.' What if his friends preferred Batman?

"Get out of my body! Get out of my head! Don't ever possess my body ever again! I'll tell Giles. Giles will exorcise you. God, I can't believe I ever trusted you!"

"Trust no one," said Batman. "Especially not me."

The door flew open. "Mr. Harris?" said the nurse, overweight and out of breath. "I heard shouting." She looked around the room, then back at him. Her blonde bangs hung limply over her eyes. "Is everything all right?"

"I, I, everything's fine. I just heard some really bad news," Xander said numbly.

The nurse looked around the room again. Xander realized that he must appear to be the only person there. He smiled weakly.

"I'm ok. Really. Not going crazy here at all. Sorry to have bothered you."

"If you say you're all right," the nurse said doubtfully. "Since I'm here," she said more confidently, "I'll take a look at your chart. Time for the next round of antibiotics, I believe." She fussed around for what seemed like forever. Finally, she left.

Batman said, "Some lessons are harder than others. Congratulations, you passed."

"What," said Xander dully. "You mean this was all some kind of sick test? You're crazy."

"I could go crazy here. It's a very real possibility. And now you have a contingency plan ready to deal with me if I ever get of hand. You should always have a backup plan for everything, every situation. What if Willow was turned into a vampire? What if Buffy lost her powers? What if Giles was deported? What if you were expelled from school? If you have a plan, you can act, not just react."

"That's not how Sunnydale works. Something weird happens, we hit the books, and then we make a plan to deal with it. You can't predict what's coming beforehand."

"You can predict that you will need to, ah, 'hit the books' when something strange happens. You can break down the threat types into physical, magical, psychological, or human, demon, vampire, or nonlethal, lethal, apocalyptic, with all the fine gradations in between. If it is a vampire posing a lethal, physical threat, then Buffy would take point with appropriate backup. If, however, it is a magical, nonlethal demon, what would you do?"

"I don't know," said Xander. "I never thought about it. Find demon, Slay demon, I guess."

"Think about it," demanded Bruce. "I can make you one of the finest mêlée fighters in the world, but all that training and all the physical skills will be nothing if you cannot think strategically. If you cannot plan ahead, if you cannot think for yourself, you are nothing but a tool to be used by those who can. Something your friend Buffy would do well to note."

"Buffy can so think for herself! She's the man with a plan, except she's a woman. She walks the walk of the free spirit, unchained by convention, ready for independent thought at every turn."

"But does she think strategically?"

"It depends on what you mean by strategically," Xander hedged. "I guess that's what Giles is for. But look," he said hurriedly, "I don't care about Buffy. I mean, I do, but not right now. You possessed my body. Or did you lie about that too?"

His right arm began to rise of its own accord; Xander's eyes widened, then narrowed. He grit his teeth, and strained to push it back down. And pushed. And pushed. His arm trembled, muscles screaming. Slowly, slowly his arm began to fall again. Suddenly all resistance disappeared, and it swung down and slapped his thigh hard.

"Ow," Xander said automatically. He was covered in cold sweat.

"Well," said Bruce lightly. "I guess there is some physical training we can do here after all."

"Don't ever do that again without my permission," said Xander dangerously. "Don't you _ever._ This is my body, not yours. We need to set some ground rules here, people."

"I swear on the graves of my parents that I will never possess Xander's whole body nor parts of his body again without his permission," said Bruce. "I will not rise his body up and fight for him on the field of battle when he has fallen unconscious; I will not catch the arrow coming at his throat. I will not take his body and his life as my own.

"They must never know, Xander, or they will ask me to fight for you. They will expect me to be your last resort, and you would never be fully valued as a fighter in your own right. You would be dependent on me, and you would not push yourself to be better, because I would always be better than you. I will not be a parasite, Xander; they must never know I still exist."

"I, uh, I won't tell. Thank you. I accept." Xander let go of his last few vague fantasies about telling his fellow comic book fans who exactly he had in his head. He would just have to become cool in his own right.

He felt exhausted, but there was still something bothering him.

"How long have you been planning this? I feel like I don't know you at all; I've been telling you everything about myself, my hopes, problems, fears, everything, and you've barely said a word about yourself. You never say what you feel, and rarely what you really think. There has gotta be some kind of give-and-take here, or I'll go nuts trying to figure you out!

"Maybe I'm not Robin material; I wanna be strong, but I don't want my life to be one long continuous test. If we're gonna be sharing the same head, I want more than the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Darth Yoda act.

"I want, I don't know what I want. But I want more than this."

There was a long pause. Eventually, Bruce said, "It doesn't come naturally." And then, so softly that Xander wondered if he imagined it, "But everything else is gone.


	4. Knight and Squire (Pt. 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The crew of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, as do various references to particular quotes. Likewise, Batman is owned by DC Comics, and ultimately Warner Bros. This work is intended for non-commercial purposes only, and is otherwise covered by a Creative Commons Attribution license. Specials thanks go to Kierkegaard and Christopher M. Drohan.
> 
> Thanks also go to SirWill of 'Twisting the Hellmouth' for putting the brain in brainstorm. This fic is cross-posted at that site under the same username, Idhren.

**Chapter Three: Knight and Squire**

Part One

It was just another day on the Hellmouth. Bland on the surface, trouble surely bubbling beneath. But Xander saw everything differently, because he knew Bruce was there.

It was a sunny, perfect California day; his first day at school back from the hospital. He strolled through the usual crowd of his fellow students with unusual assurance, honing in on two familiar heads of hair.

"What's the what, ladies?" Xander said with a lopsided grin.

Buffy lowered her shades slightly. "Just playing a quick game of 'Anywhere But Here'," she replied mock-nonchalantly. Her teeth flashed a sudden white against her tan skin. "Welcome back, Xander."

"Xander!"

"Ouch, Will! You know I love my Willow-hugs, but the ribs, ow, the ribs still feel like I've been run over by a herd of wild buses."

"And suddenly I'm imagining a fleet of yellow school buses driving through tall, waving grass against a huge sunset."

Willow laughed. "And I thought my ziti detail was good! So, Xander, you still wishing for Amy Yip at the waterslide park?"

"Actually, and I can't believe I'm saying this about school, I'm right where I wanna be. Nothing like being stuck in a tiny hospital room by yourself to make you appreciate a bit of the normal."

* * *

Normal being a relative term, of course. Willow filled him in on the end of the Ford saga later at the Bronze. Buffy's old friend from Hemery High had attempted to trade Buffy to Spike in exchange for immortal life as a vampire.

"I didn't wanna say anything in front of Buffy, but I can't believe she was friends with such a, a charming jerk! I mean, why didn't I see it immediately? He just acted all suave-like, and Buffy knew him from way back. You should be able to trust people you've know that long. I mean, I even trust Cordelia! Not with anything important, 'cause she's Cordelia, but you know what I mean, don't you?"

"Of course I do," said Xander. 'Shut up, Bruce,' he thought.

"It is a good lesson," Bruce repeated. "People aren't always what they seem."

'I'm not talking to you right now,' thought Xander. He was really getting the hang of this talking-by-thinking thing. If he purposefully thought something towards Bruce, Bruce would hear him. Unfortunately, no one but Xander could hear Bruce, which meant Bruce felt free to comment on anything he pleased at any time. Like now.

"You should be able to carry on two conversations at once."

'This is my Willow-time. I've been working very hard all week—'

"Lying in bed."

'—doing homework and strengthening exercises and planning with you, and now I deserve a break.'

"You're getting distracted. Pay attention to Willow."

'Geez! That's what I wanted to do in the first place.'

"—and Xander, ohmigod, are you watching Cordelia's butt?" Willow said in horrified tones.

Xander jerked to attention. He had indeed been staring into space in Cordy's general direction. She was dancing with her latest fling, Percy-so-not-good-enough-for-her. And come to think of it, she did have a very attractive—ack! Don't even go there, brain. She was Jesse's girl. Had been. Anyway, he hated Cordelia.

"A man can have a purely aesthetic appreciation of beauty, Willow, without completely falling to the Dark Side," he said in lofty tones.

"Eyes here, buster, and don't let them wander again," said Willow, unconvinced.

The band was good tonight. It felt good to just hang out in the Bronze, even though Buffy couldn't make it. Willow had finally stopped trying to disrupt their comfortable friendship by 'turning it into something more' a few weeks ago. There was no more register on the awkward-o-meter with it being just the two of them.

Thirty minutes later, though, he still had to leave. He'd promised Bruce.

"Xanderrr."

"Sorry, Willow. A man's gotta go when a man's gotta go. Uh, I mean, not in that way. I have to go. I mean leave."

"It's only eight o'clock!"

"And my ribs say it's pain o'clock. I need the extra sleep, especially since we have that early computer class with Ms. Calendar tomorrow morning. It should so be against the law to make us to come into to school on a Saturday."

"It'll be fun, Xander. Just wait and see!"

"Don't," Bruce cut in. "Don't make any kind of comment about how you can't imagine being that excited about school. Remember your promise."

'You're taking all the fun out of my life, Bruce,' Xander grumbled mentally.

* * *

Even the night air felt good. It was crisp and cool, just the way he liked it. The streets were mostly empty, the moon almost full. He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked on. People weren't meant to be cooped up in hospitals.

Bruce said he would be starting his real training tomorrow. What would they be doing? In the comics, they tended to skip over that part. He remembered something about chopping bricks and bending back fingers until the perk started to scream. Bruce didn't have a body, so how would they practice that? How would Bruce be teaching him all those cool martial arts moves anyway?

Xander would be glad to finally start the physical stuff in earnest; then maybe they would stop having conversations that made his head hurt.

"Is it right to kill a vampire?" Bruce asked suddenly.

"What kind of question is that?" Xander said. "Of course it's right to kill vampires! That's the mission, remember? The grand purpose? The reason you're training me? Vampires are evil! It's good to kill vampires."

"Don't speak out loud, Xander. Think it."

'Killing vampires is good,' Xander thought stubbornly.

"You said Angel was on your side, but Angel is a vampire. Would you kill Angel?"

'Angel has a soul. That's different.'

"Can other vampires have souls?"

"No!" Xander nearly shouted.

"Xander."

'No,' Xander thought.

"Did Angel always have his soul?"

Xander was walking faster now. He felt harried, like he was being pushed in some direction he did not want to go. He did not want to talk about the morality of killing vampires. He really, really did not want to talk about this.

'No.'

"How did Angel get his soul?"

'He was cursed.'

"So other vampires could be cursed and gain a soul."

'Maybe.'

"Is it right to kill a being with a soul?"

'It depends.'

"Depends on what?"

'Circumstances.'

"Such as?"

'If they did something bad. If someone killed someone else, they could be charged with murder, and then executed.'

"Could Buffy be charged with murder?"

'Buffy hasn't killed anyone!'

"She kills vampires."

'Look, vampires aren't people. They aren't someones. They're, they're demons, and demons aren't people. We kill them so they don't kill people.' _You're like a shadow to me now._

"Preemptive self-defense, in other words."

'Whatever that means.'

"Is it right to kill a vampire if you could give it a soul instead?"

'I don't know!'

"That's a good place to start," said Bruce.

Xander was nearly running now. _You're not looking at your friend. You're looking at the thing that killed him._

'I can't cure all the vampires in Sunnydale. They're murderers! Angel is a special case.'

"Like Jesse could have been?"

'Don't you—'

Xander noticed the couple too late, practically barreling over the man. "Oof!" It was a relief. The conversation was over. Enough about vampires.

"Xander, I can't hear his heartbeat," whispered Bruce.

Xander froze.

The 'man' dusted himself off. "I guess you would count as 'fast' food, huh? Special delivery."

His companion laughed. Then she whipped her head around, fangs sprouting down, eyes yellow, face erupting into the characteristic bumpy skin. The man did the same.

"Sorry, sir, wrong address," said Xander automatically. "No deliveryman included." There were two of them. Two vampires. He couldn't take on two vampires by himself. He tried to back away, but the male vampire grabbed his collar.

'Bruce,' thought Xander desperately, 'Bruce, help!'

"Relax, Xander," Bruce said calmly. "Just as we practiced."

With an enormous effort of will, Xander let go as much as he could. Then Bruce, there was no other word for it, Bruce _flowed_ into his body. Xander felt that familiar disconnect, and he relaxed further. As long as he didn't struggle, Bruce would be able to fully possess his body, and that meant Bruce could fight.

The world felt hyper-real, every detail sharp, every sense alert. Xander felt himself go boneless. The vampire dropped him in surprise.

His body sprung up and away. It was a glorious feeling, smooth and controlled with a flowing grace. His lungs filled with the cool air, his muscles contracted and relaxed. His body balanced on the balls of his feet as his arms withdrew one of the thin stakes strapped to his side.

Xander couldn't resist. He gently took back control of his mouth, ready to release it again if Bruce overrode him.

"Olé!"

The vampires' yellow eyes gleamed in the faint moonlight, narrowing with the lust of hunger. They moved to circle around him, and Xander's legs began to run, arms pumping at his side. There was a graveyard by the side of the road; Xander's body leapt over the low fence, flashing past the tombstones.

The vampires gave chase. "What are you, some kind of coward? Get back here!"

Xander felt incredibly alive; his blood was pumping in his veins, his feet felt light against the ground. The vampires had already begun to spread out, the male vamp distancing his counterpart. He was close, so close. He must be young; he was still breathing, even though a vampire had no need to breathe. The hairs on the back of Xander's neck rose. So close—

Xander's body whipped around to the side, perfectly balanced. His right leg snaked forward behind the vampire's right leg and stiffened. At the same time, his right arm lunged across the vampire's chest and grabbed the vampire's right shoulder, pushing it back while pulling to the left. The vampire reached up to knock Xander's arm away with incredible speed, but it was too late. Momentum diverted, leg unbalanced, he fell across Xander's right hip and his back slammed straight into the stake waiting in Xander's left hand.

He exploded into dust. The whole move had taken less than two seconds.

"You bastard!" cried the female vampire. "You killed Kenny!"

Xander's eyes met hers; his body began to stalk towards her.

She turned to run.

And puffed into dust, revealing the last person Xander wanted to see. Bruce instantly flowed away, dropping all control of Xander's body.

"Xander?"

"Buffy!"

"What are you doing here?" They said simultaneously.

"I'm doing a quick patrol before heading to the hospital. Y'know, to keep the blood delivery from being a vampire all-you-can-eat buffet. What are you doing here out alone? Y'know it's dangerous."

"I was walkin' home from the Bronze. Willow wanted to stay longer, and there was no one to ask for a ride."

"Xander," said Buffy, and she paused. She looked him straight in the eye, as serious as he'd ever seen her. The bottom of his stomach flipped and dropped with record speed.

"Xander, where'd you learn to fight like that?"


	5. Knight and Squire (Pt. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The crew of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, as do various references to particular quotes. Likewise, Batman is owned by DC Comics, and ultimately Warner Bros. This work is intended for non-commercial purposes only, and is otherwise covered by a Creative Commons Attribution license. Specials thanks go to Kierkegaard and Christopher M. Drohan.
> 
> Thanks also go to my fabulous beta, MoragMacPherson. This fic is cross-posted at 'Twisting the Hellmouth' under the same username.

**Chapter Three: Knight and Squire**

Part Two

 

"Uh," Xander said. Buffy stood there, waiting. It was awfully quiet here in the graveyard, wasn't it? Just the two of them. Three of them.

'Bruce, help!' he thought.

"French," said Bruce. "Willow said Buffy remembers some French from Halloween. Tell Buffy that you remember Batman's memories about how to fight."

'But I thought—'

"Just do it!"

"Well, Buff," Xander began lightly, "You got the French, but I can fight like Batman."

"That is _so_ not fair!" She picked her way towards him with a fluid sort of grace. He gulped.

"Hey, you were the one who chose to dress as Lady Useless."

"Rub it in, why dontcha," she grumbled. The moonlight had faded her golden hair; she looked practical and tough as nails. Buffy came up close, and gave him a very deliberate inspection. Xander fought the urge to squirm.

She peered up into his face. "Wait until Giles hears about this. And Willow! Why didn't you tell us?"

"I, uh, I just found out today. Night. When I was fighting. It was all instinct. Xander running away from a pair of vampires like a little girl turned into Bat-Xan martial arts man. See the muscles?" He flexed his biceps, and his ribs twinged painfully. "Ow." The adrenaline had to be wearing off.

"I dunno, Xander. Just be careful, okay? Even Batman got hurt fighting vampires. I'm the one with the mystical vampire slaying mojo, not you."

Xander gave her a sad face.

"But I'm sure you'll contribute loads," she said hurried. "Anyway, I'm hospital-bound. Wanna come with? I want you in total share mode. What's it like to be Batman?"

"I'm not really Batman," Xander said as they turned to walk. "Though that would be really, really cool. I just remember Br—Batman's memories 'bout how to fight."

Bruce jumped in. "Emphasize that you need to build up muscle memory in order to use those memories. It will take a great deal of hard work, Xander, before you are ready to fight on your own. Your friends need to know that."

"I'm not sure I could do that move again right now. I remember how to do it, I remember what it feels like to do it, but the actual ability to do it—I think the muscle memory is already slipping away. It's like being a ghost in a room full of delicious, spongy golden Hostess Cakes; your mouth waters, you reach for the ambrosia of goodness, and—"

"Xander, watch out!" Bruce cried.

Xander flinched backwards, but it was too late. Buffy's hand had whipped towards his arm, and now held it in a vice-like grip. She released it almost immediately.

"Ow! Jeez, Buff, if you wanted to feel me up, all you had to do was ask."

"Sorry, Xander. I just had to make sure. Batman could have stopped me; my Xander couldn't."

She looked at him again.

"You are my Xander, right?"

"Always." That cut too close; he forced a laugh. "I'm your Xander-shaped friend, remember?"

"Just as long as there's a Xander in that Xander-shape, I think we're of the good."

They walked together. Alone. Well, with Bruce, but he didn't count. Xander had never been on a date with Buffy; he was rarely ever alone with her. He knew he didn't have a chance, not with that blood-sucking, hair-gel-using, undead heartthrob lurking around. And probably not even if Angel wasn't. Buffy was out of his league. Didn't mean he couldn't dream, now and then. The silence gave him space to do that.

It wasn't an awkward silence. That was good, right? He sneaked a glance at her. She was hot and brave and witty, and she wielded a mean stake. What more could a guy look for in a girl? Okay, she could kick his ass any day of the week, but he kinda liked that in a woman, and no power on earth could ever make him say that aloud. One day he could be strong like that too. He had his own secret weapon, his own Giles. He had Bruce; maybe she wasn't so out of his league after all.

Though she wasn't perfect by any means. There were things he didn't like about her at all. Sometimes she could be a real bitch. The memory of that dance still stung. _Don't you wish I would?_ He still woke up sometimes aching and angry and hating himself for ever believing for a second that she would think about him that way. And needing a cold shower. He saved her life, and she repaid him by treating him like, like a welcome home mat she wiped her shoes on and then walked right over.

But she was still Buffy. And if all they ever got to be was friends, that would be more than enough.

* * *

The next morning, Xander's alarm went off at a most ungodly hour. The sun had just come up. He hurt all over, and he knew who was to blame.

'Bruce.'

No answer.

'Bruce? Bruce!'

Silence.

Was Bruce gone? Xander felt a guilty flash of relief, followed immediately by horror. What about—

"My apologies, Xander," said Bruce quietly. "I was meditating."

'Welcome to freakedville, Bruce! I thought you had disappeared.'

"I'm still here. Stop stalling, Xander; get up. We're going for a run."

Xander's eyes felt gluey. He contemplated pushing himself up out of bed, and groaned. Finally, he simply opted for rolling himself right off the side of the bed. It was painful, but effective.

Bruce was merciless. He hounded Xander through throwing on whatever old clothing was closest to hand, putting on his shoes, wrapping his ribs, stumbling down the stairs and out the door. He described a few quick warm-up exercises to Xander, overrode Xander's feeble objections to continuing them, shouted him into a steady running pace. No drill sergeant could have done better. Then again, no drill sergeant could actually get into his victim's head the way Bruce did.

Ten minutes later, Xander began to enjoy himself, much to his surprise. His lungs were burning less, and his limbs felt loose and supple. His ribs were silent on the pain front. He could talk without actually having to use up precious breath.

'But why?'

"You need the stamina, and not the kind you use for comic book marathons. It's for your own good. We have to be more careful, Xander. You must have an alternate explanation for everything I teach you, every improvement you make under my tutelage. Use the resources around you for camouflage."

'I know, I know. Willow for schoolwork, Giles for martial arts, Willow and Ms. Calendar for computers, the guys from the science club for forensics, or I could just ask Willow again.'

"Demonology?"

'Giles' books? I mean, Giles.'

"And the demons themselves."

'Like Angel? No. Uh, uh. Not going to happen. You keep talking about Angel, Angel, Angel. Do you have a crush on him or something?'

"You're the one who brought him up in the first place. I wasn't thinking of Angel at all. I was proposing using other demons as information sources. You know, it occurs to me that you're being a little too emphatic in your dislike. Perhaps even overcompensating?"

'Shut up. Anyway, demons equal evil, remember? I can't imagine sitting down with one for afternoon tea and a little chat. And that just gave me a very strange mental picture.'

They continued to talk as Xander ran. It was getting lighter out now as he was getting closer to the town center. And hot. He waved at the postman, but didn't stop. 'How much longer, Bruce?'

"Ten more minutes. Pick a location to aim for."

The conversation lapsed into silence. Xander was beginning to have doubts about his ability to get to the half-way point, let alone all the way back to his parents' house. He tried to recapture that feeling of lightness from the previous night when Bruce had been in control, but had trouble getting it right. Xander felt off balance in his own body. His feet pounded heavily against the pavement.

It was nice to have some space to think. His head felt awfully crowded these days. Not that he didn't enjoy having Bruce there; on the contrary, it was comforting. Exciting. Here he was, running at the crack of dawn like a real athlete with his own personal trainer. He could just imagine the look on Cordelia's face.

There: finally. The Starbucks. He could just see them opening up in the window. Not as good as the Espresso Pump, and too expensive for his budget, but a fine institution nonetheless. They sold excellent pastries.

He turned around with relief, and started home. It was as good a time as any to bring up the subject.

'So when do I get my secret identity?'

"Your secret identity," said Bruce flatly.

Xander plowed forward. 'Y'know, the costume, the name, the special gadgets.' He waggled his eyebrows. 'My growing reputation as the mysterious Scourge of the Underworld.'

"I told you Sunnydale was no place for a Robin."

'I wouldn't dress up as _Robin._ I'd be, uh, I dunno—'

"—Xander the Vampire Slayer?"

'Ha, ha, very funny. I'm being serious here.' He paused thoughtfully. 'It can't be that hard to draw up a costume, right?'

"This isn't a game, Alexander! This is war, not a costume party. You don't need a secret identity."

'You had one, _Batman_.'

"Gotham needed me to be more than a man. It needed a symbol, one Bruce Wayne could never be."

'Sunnydale needs me too!'

"Does it really? The vampires already have a boogieman. What can you offer that Buffy can't?"

'Uh,' said Xander. He rallied. 'It's only a job for her; it's more than that for me. Besides, I'll be that strong too one day.'

"Don't fool yourself," Bruce snapped. "Right now you can't even get up out of bed by yourself in the morning, let alone fight a vampire one on one. You will never be as strong physically as Buffy. You have to be more clever, more prepared, and more skilled than her in order to overcome her brute force approach. And right now you are none of these things. You're a statistic waiting to happen if you can't get that through your head. You're a liability to the cause, and I will not aid in any more deaths."

'I'm not going to fight Buffy,' Xander said weakly. This conversation was not going the way he had planned at all. 'She's my friend.'

"What if she was possessed? She wouldn't thank you for holding back."

'We'd be screwed. I mean, I would not panic. All right, there might be a little panicking, but I'd figure something out. Look, there's space in Sunnydale for more than one hero. I want—'

"—A hero? You have no sense of the responsibility you're taking on at all, do you? Does your vow mean anything to you?"

'Shut up,' said Xander hotly. 'It means everything. Jesse's death changed everything.'

"Why should I? A hero. Xander Harris, Scourge of the Underworld. Demon Hunter, Vampire Killer, even Protector of Attractive Women, no doubt. You have no respect. Better men than you have gotten killed in this war."

'Like Jason Todd?'

"This discussion is over."

'I'm sorry,' said Xander desperately. He could feel it all slipping away. 'I went too far.'

Silence.

'Please. You said you would help me.'

Silence.

Xander ran on.

Genius. He was so stupid. This was important, and he completely blew it. He needed a secret identity. He needed to be more than just plain old dumb Xander Harris if he was going to fulfill his promise to Jesse. He needed Bruce to get there. Why did he let Bruce goad him into losing control?

Silence.

He took an extra loop on the way home to add half an hour to his run. He showered, got dressed, had breakfast. He still had an hour before he had to leave for that makeup Saturday morning computer class. He pulled out his math homework. Bruce had helped him get it started last night after he got home from his accidental patrol.

'So, uh, about finding the acute angle to this triangle…'

Silence.

Bruce had to respond sooner or later. Xander knew his natural curiosity would win out. He started walking to school; he'd be right on time.

Silence.


	6. Knight and Squire (Pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YAHF. Alfred would be proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The crew of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, as do various references to particular quotes. Likewise, Batman is owned by DC Comics, and ultimately Warner Bros. This work is intended for non-commercial purposes only, and is otherwise covered by a Creative Commons Attribution license. Specials thanks go to Kierkegaard and Christopher M. Drohan.
> 
> Thanks also go to my fabulous beta, MoragMacPherson. This fic is cross-posted at 'Twisting the Hellmouth' under the same username.

**Chapter Three: Knight and Squire**

Part Three

 

He could hear their voices echoing down the school corridor as he closed the door. Xander paused, then shamelessly stopped to eavesdrop.

"—He said he was in the middle of something 'extremely important'." Buffy sounded worried.

"And what did Giles say about Xander's," here Xander had to strain to hear Willow's voice, "new super fighty skills?"

"He just brushed me off. 'Very funny, Buffy. For the last time, goodbye,' he said, and then shut the door in my face. He looked bad, Will. I think he had been—"

"Hello, Xander," said Ms. Calendar.

"Ack!" Xander replied, and stumbled around. "Don't do that!" He clutched his hand to his chest, and melodramatically said, "My heart can't take the strain." Ms. Calendar smiled, while Cordelia just looked annoyed. Together they were…wow. Xander made a conscious effort to keep his eyes on their faces rather than fully appreciate the figures of feminine beauty before him.

"You're too young to have a heart attack, dorkhead," said Cordelia. "Anyway, I heard that you can fight like Batman now. If you start running around graveyards like a complete fashion disaster in brightly-colored spandex, I will never speak to you again."

"Good!" said Xander, mentally darkening the colors of his imaginary costume. "Then I wouldn't have to listen to you embarrass yourself by opening your mouth."

"Why do I lower myself by spending even one more minute in your company? Oh, that's right, forced proximity. I can feel my social status slipping already. Your loserdom is contagious," replied Cordelia. She sounded like she was enjoying herself.

"Children, children," Ms. Calendar cut in. "You can save the foreplay for after computer class."

Xander's brain ground to a halt.

"Can I just say 'ew'?" said Cordelia.

Xander was still incapable of speech. Cordelia and Ms. Calendar looked at him, and then at each other.

"Men."

By the time they got halfway to computer class, Buffy and Willow had joined them. Willow had that cringing puppy look she got when she felt guilty; Buffy sported an almost seamless fake smile.

"Why Willow, Buffy," Xander said with fake astonishment. "You're here early! Where's the apocalypse? Buffy, I expect this kind of treason from Willow, but you, you, I thought we had our little secret covenant to disdain all things school."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Like you're one to talk, Mr. Suddenly Studious. I dunno, Willow: do you think he's been replaced by a pod person? This is Xander we're talking about, after all."

"Hey!" said Xander. "Standing right here, y'know."

"Don't be mean, Buffy; he's trying really hard to do better in school. Aren't you, Xander? I approve," said Willow firmly. At least he had Willow on his side. Or was that school's side? When it came to defending school, Willow was definitely Old Reliable.

"Don't we have computer class or something?" Cordelia asked in bored tones. She was giving her nails the kind of attention usually reserved for painting masterpieces with a two-haired brush. "Let's just get it over with."

Ms. Calendar had barely finished unlocking the door, however, when Willow abruptly stopped, blocking the entrance. "Oh! Buffy, don't forget the Giles thing."

"Oh," said Buffy quietly. "Ms. Calendar, can I talk to you for a minute? Giles didn't show at the hospital last night, and when I went over to his place, he was acting very, well, very anti-Giles. I think he was _drinking_," she said, sounding horrified.

"And, and not in an English way!" said Willow. They all looked at her. She shrank a little. "I mean, he wasn't drinking tea."

Xander wondered what Bruce thought about all this, and then resolutely let it go. He wouldn't be the first one to blink, not now. He listened as Ms. Calendar spoke, and then Buffy, and finally Cordelia. Of course Cordy wouldn't think a little thing like the police questioning Giles about a homicide was important; it wasn't about her, was it? He said as much, and then quickly went on before Cordelia could reply. "Something's definitely wiggy here, Buffy. What are we gonna do?"

Buffy had already started for the door. "I'm going to call him right now," she said over her shoulder as she strode determinedly out of the room.

"Does this mean we don't have computer class anymore?" Cordelia asked. "What," she said in response to their looks. "Buffy is taking care of it. And I have to do an emergency repair on this chipped nail."

* * *

Class only lasted fifteen minutes before Willow raised her hand.

"Yes, Willow?" said Ms. Calendar. Her voice remained calm and teacherly, but her face had been getting increasingly tight. She seemed glad for the interruption.

"Buffy still hasn't come back. I, I think we should go look for her," Willow said, gaining a sudden rush of confidence as she went. Head raised high, she looked challengingly around the room.

"I second the motion," said Xander hastily. Without Bruce there, he had been getting increasingly lost in all this computer stuff.

"Whatever," said Cordelia. "I'll come too."

They hurried to the library. As he went through the doors, Xander suddenly came face-to-face with a tall, thin-faced older man wearing a blue shirt. He looked familiar. The man instantly halted his headlong rush; Xander thought he saw a flash of fear cross his face.

"Don't let him get away," Buffy called; she appeared to be busy facing off with a zombie in a suit.

"You," said the man.

"Him," growled Bruce dangerously. "Ethan Rayne, the mage who summoned me into your body on Halloween. What a distinct non-pleasure to see you again. Be careful, Xander; this is a very dangerous man."

Ethan abruptly relaxed, and laughed. Xander eyed him warily. "The boy who dressed as Batman. Oh, you've caught me. Now what are you going to do with me?"

"Ask you nicely to go sit at that table over there." said Xander. "And don't call me 'boy'."

Ethan's gaze felt like a physical weight. "And if I won't go?"

"We'll ask you not so nicely," said Buffy as she came over to stand next to Xander, zombie thing now securely locked in the library cage. He could feel the supportive presence of Willow and Cordelia at his back. They were waiting, all his friends were waiting on his word: they trusted him to take the lead. Xander fought back a flush of pleasure and drew on their strength to challenge and hold Ethan's eyes. He felt perfectly calm, open and ready for whatever might come.

Ethan broke their staring contest with exaggerated care, then flashed him a sardonic look and sauntered over to the table. Xander hated him already.

The Scoobies arranged themselves around the library table, speculating about the dead man who had attacked Buffy. His skin was greenish and pocketed, but he otherwise looked pretty healthy for a member of the living dead club. Creepy creature straight out of a horror film and evil Halloween mage? Xander was pretty sure this wasn't a coincidence.

Suddenly Giles flung open the library doors. Buffy was right; he did look bad. He had a five o'clock shadow; sallow, dirty skin; and the same clothes on that he had been wearing yesterday. It transformed Giles into a stranger. That impression grew stronger when Giles saw Ethan Rayne: Giles' voice flattened with a quiet, un-Giles-like intensity. Somehow Xander wasn't surprised to hear Ethan call Giles 'Ripper', or to see Giles' violent response. He was right; Giles did have a dark side. Everyone on the Hellmouth did, except maybe Willow. But the proof still made the world shift unsettlingly beneath him.

A loud crash broke Xander's focus – the zombie man was charging out of the cage. Xander pushed Cordelia out of the way, turning to fight. Buffy got there first, planting a spinning side kick into what's-his-name's chest.

"Xander," said Bruce with quiet intensity. "The mage is getting away."

Indeed, Ethan was slowly backing out of the room; Xander lunged towards him. He only got in a few steps, however, before he heard the man whisper something about Janus and twist his fingers. Invisible hands grabbed Xander's ankles, and give a vicious tug. His arms locked to his side. The ground rushed towards Xander's face.

* * *

When he came to himself again, Xander felt disoriented. His head hurt, and he wasn't in his bed. The static in his vision cleared away to reveal Willow's anxious face. "Xander, Xander! Are you okay? You're awake. That's good. Are you broken? Does anything hurt?"

What was the last thing he remembered? Huh. It felt like the fight with Ethan Rayne had happened yesterday. Wait, the zombie man! "Willow, what happened to the dead guy?"

"Ew." She wrinkled her nose. "He melted. It was gross."

"Is that normal behavior for demons?" Bruce asked.

'I dunno,' Xander thought back. 'There weren't any melting zombies in 'Night of the Living Dead'. But I think zombie men count as undead, not undemon.'

"Will it be back?"

'Now there's a creepy thought. He wasn't exactly the social type,' Xander replied. He began to haul himself up into a seated position.

"Xander?" said Willow anxiously. "Maybe you should just stay there for a moment."

"I'm okay, Will. Really," Xander said. He pulled himself gingerly to his feet, only wobbling slightly, and looked around. He ignored Buffy and Cordelia hovering anxiously a few feet away in favor of the Giles show. He observed with interest that Buffy's Watcher was practically cradling Ms. Calendar to his chest at the library table. As if sensing his gaze, Giles looked over.

"Do be careful, Xander. Head injuries are nothing to fool around with. I'm taking Jenny home; your friends should do the same."

"But Giles—" said Buffy.

"Leave it, Buffy," Giles snapped. Buffy subsided, looking hurt. The moment Giles and Ms. Calendar were out the door, however, she turned around and issued marching orders. Willow to the books, Xander to Giles' files: find the 'Mark of Eyghon.'

Xander felt a guilty thrill as he crept into Giles' office. There were file cabinets everywhere. He'd always amused himself by imagining strange Giles things they might contain: librarian actions figures, perhaps, or never-ending pots of tea. The cabinets were locked, but he found the key in the same hiding place as the one Giles used for the library cage. He pulled the nearest one open, and glanced inside. Just card catalogues.

"Look again, Xander," said Bruce.

Xander flipped through the cards, stopped, and went back. Each card had a neatly handwritten label. Labels like 'Demon, Bohg'dar' and 'Demon, Bortez', 'Demon, Chorago' and 'Compendium, Suleman's'. There were page numbers referring to demonology books in a subset of the Dewey Decimal System that Xander had never seen before. And there were little notes on the side, like 'New copy ordered 18/8/97' or 'Native to Asia, thank god'.

"We need to start one of these," said Bruce. "Immediately."

'Jealous much?' Xander teased. In the comics, Batman kept files on everyone, friends and villains alike. He wondered suddenly if Bruce had a mental file on his friends. It would be just like him, wouldn't it.

By the time Cordelia joined him, Xander had gotten thoroughly distracted. There were cards cross-referenced by description with little illustrations. One horn vs. two horns; fire breathing vs. vulnerability to fire. Humanoid, bestial, unknown. Bruce had been right; there were ways to categorize unfamiliar demons and predict ways to deal with them. Did Giles have all this memorized?

"Huh. Xander Harris, closet bookworm. I never would have guessed. You always seemed pretty stupid to me."

"Look who's talking," said Xander automatically. "Look at these – Giles has his own private card system for all his Watcher stuff! This is so cool."

"Color me unsurprised," said Cordelia. "He is a librarian, after all. Anyway, I'm not going to waste my valuable time looking at random pretty pictures with you. What about the Mark of Eyghon?"

"Let's see: 'Eyghon, Mark of', I think." For once he actually knew what he was doing with research. And he sounded like it too. He glanced at Cordelia; what did she think?

Willow's voice drifted out of the main room. "I've got it! It's not Egyptian, it's Etruscan mistaken for Egyptian by its design pattern, but any fool can see it predates their iconography."

"'Any fool'," repeated Xander, dully. "Of course."

The Scoobies crowded around Willow as she read the Eyghon passage from the book aloud. Eyghon, aka the 'Sleepwalker' demon, could possess the unconscious as well as the dead; Ms. Calendar had been the nearest unconscious person when the dead guy disintegrated – ergo, she must have been possessed. They had to get the demon out of her soon and kill it. If they didn't, it would kill Ms. Calendar and Be Reborn Into The World. (Willow always did have a nice turn of phrase for such occasions.)

Just another day on the Hellmouth, Xander thought, except for the weirdness with Giles. No one could reach him by phone. He had left with the demonically possessed Ms. Calendar; he might still be in danger. Buffy ran out to find Giles in person immediately. It was up to the rest of them to figure out how to kill Eyghon without killing Ms. Calendar too. The replacement computer teacher would probably be wrinkled and ugly, not to mention evil.

'What do you think, Bruce? What should we do?' Xander thought.

"I'd like to see how you handle this one on your own," replied Bruce. Wonderful, thought Xander irritably, just what he needed: another test.

He wondered if Ms. Calendar was conscious now. Could she feel the demon walking her body around, speaking with her mouth, aping her relationship with Giles? Was she feeling helpless and trapped, watching and unable to do anything to stop it? If Eyghon was anything like the hyena, he knew she'd be screaming inside. There had to be something he could do to help; there just had to be.

It could have been him; he had been unconscious in the library too. There could have been yet another episode of 'Let's Possess Xander' on Comedy Central at nine. But wasn't Bruce already there? How would that work?

"Willow," said Xander slowly. "Can someone be possessed by two beings at once? Would they have a smack-down or something?"

"Oh," said Willow. "Oh. Oh, I've got it. I've got it! Xander, you're a genius." She gave him a hit-and-run hug and ran out the door.

"I am?" said Xander.

"I'm confused," said Cordelia. "What's the plan?"

Xander shrugged, and smiled ruefully. "The same thing we do every time, Pinky — follow Willow's lead." Cordelia smiled too, then caught herself and gave him a look. Score.

And as they left the library, Bruce said quietly, "Very nicely done, Xander."

* * *

Willow's plan consisted of sending Angel after the Eyghon-possessed Ms. Calendar. Angel was a technically dead body already possessed by a demon; when he strangled Ms. Calendar, Eyghon jumped straight into him. Demonic catfight ensued, Eyghon was vanquished, damsel saved. Ethan Rayne got away, but Xander had no interest in a second potential concussion; he suspected there would be another time.

He tried to catch Buffy afterward, but she left with Angel. He thought he understood what she was going through with Giles; he knew what it was like to be shut out by one's mentor. Had his running argument with Bruce only started this morning? It felt like they had been fighting for half of forever, and he resented that. Okay, maybe he had pushed a little too hard, but Bruce had completely overreacted. It wasn't Xander's fault. Anyway, Bruce would come around eventually and so would Giles. They had to.

It was night now; too late to walk home by himself. He soon found himself thanking Cordelia for giving Willow and him a lift in her car, then turning to face his front door. Xander hunched his shoulders and pushed it open. Light and noise spilled from the square TV screen into the dark living room. Empty beer cans glinted, and the big easy chair shone softly. The man's silhouette was just barely visible.

Xander closed the door as softly as he could, and started up the stairs. He was chased by a sudden loud belch from below, and the gentle creaking of a body shifting in a chair. All the excitement of the day drained away, leaving Xander feeling tired and vaguely sick; no matter how hard he tried, he always came back to this.


	7. Knight and Squire (Pt. 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YAHF. Alfred would be proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The crew of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, as do various references to particular quotes. Likewise, Batman is owned by DC Comics, and ultimately Warner Bros. This work is intended for non-commercial purposes only, and is otherwise covered by a Creative Commons Attribution license. Specials thanks go to Kierkegaard and Christopher M. Drohan.
> 
> Thanks also go to my fabulous beta, MoragMacPherson. This fic is cross-posted at 'Twisting the Hellmouth' under the same username.
> 
> WARNING: strong language

**Chapter Three: Knight and Squire**

Part Four

 

One day Xander would be a superhero. He would wake up with beautiful women in his arms, he would live in a huge, expensive mansion, he would have a secret identity with legions of fans. He would, in other words, be a success. That day was not today.

Xander woke with his heart pounding. He lay back, chilled with sweat, and took a few deep breaths. Already the details of the dream were beginning to slip away.

He had been facing a panel of people with blindfolds on; that much he remembered. They were asking him questions, questions like, "Are you in the computer industry?" and, "Do you perform?" Amy Yip asked him if he worked with his hands ("No."); Principle Snyder questioned if he had a paying job at all ("No.").

"Are you training to become Batman? He smells, you know," said the Joker.

"Yes," replied Xander.

"Aha! Then you must be Robin," the Joker said, and ripped off his blindfold. "Oh, phooey. _You_ aren't Robin. Such a pity; we could have had so much fun together."

Someone else jumped in. "Can you fight vampires one-on-one?"

"No," confessed Xander, shame-faced.

"I know," said Buffy suddenly. "You're Jesse McNally!"

That was the point when Xander woke up. "You're Xander Harris," he told himself, and pushed up out of bed. No more lazy Sunday mornings; he had made a commitment, and he would keep it. It was his choice. He would prove to himself that Xander Harris could do this independently. He didn't need Bruce's help.

Hunting for his socks, Xander began to settle back into his own skin. Dressing for running was already beginning to feel like a routine: pulling out the clothes, putting them on, running a potential route for the day through his head. He was just reaching for the Ace bandages to wrap his ribs when Bruce spoke up.

"You won't be needing those anymore." Bruce sounded smug.

'I thought I had three or four more days to go at least.' You _aren't Robin_, the Joker had said.

"I've been meditating."

'And the award for clarity goes to Bruce Wayne, folks. Let's give him a round of applause,' Xander snarked.

"When I meditate," Bruce continued serenely, "I can settle my consciousness deeper and deeper into your body, becoming aware of it at tissue and cellular levels." A strange note entered his voice. "I can hear the beat of your blood and the singing of your cells…" He trailed off, and then resumed more briskly. "And if I can sense it, I can possess it and manipulate it."

'Go on,' said Xander, intrigued in spite of himself. Where had he put that shirt from yesterday? Had his mother bustled in and taken it while he was out? He'd told her over and over again that he didn't want her coming into his room. He was a big boy now; he could do his own laundry.

"I can heal you, Xander. I can stimulate the flow of blood to your ribs, help your lungs absorb more oxygen, ease away the minor concussion you received yesterday. I can tag invaders for your antibodies and repair minute tears to your muscles from your training. I might even be able to slow your blood loss in combat."

"Holy hand grenades, Bat—, I mean Bruce. Wow. This is so cool. I, I don't know what to say. I'm psyched. My own Bat healing factor. It's like Twinkies and birthday presents and hot girls all rolled into one, except _better._"

"Xander," barked Bruce.

'Right, I forgot. No speaking. See no Bruce, speak no thoughts, hear no other voice before you, yadda yadda yadda. But still! I'm like super Xander now.'

"This isn't license to run off and get yourself killed fighting creatures you can't handle yet. I can't provide Slayer-level healing, and you still have next to no training in combat. We need to have a secure training place, Xander; you have to ask your parents to use the basement."

Xander knew he'd been putting it off, but Bruce didn't know what he was asking. 'I know, I know. I will. I'll do it tonight. Anyway,' he said, grabbing a fresh shirt, 'I'm ready to run.'

* * *

He started off a sprint, but was rapidly reduced to a slow, gasping pace. Xander's legs burned. Bruce couldn't – or wouldn't – remove the buildup of lactic acid. And wouldn't Willow be surprised (breathe in) that he knew (let it out _slowly_) what that was. Ow.

'Bruce, what's the sitch? I thought you had this fancy healing thing down.' That little kid over there better not be laughing at him. Was it – oh, that was just cruel. The little tyke was outrunning him. And the mother was just standing there, giggling. Parents these days, they just let their kids run wild. Where's the discipline? Where's the rod and cane and that thingy with the little leather loop on the end?

He wondered if his mother had ever looked that happy, then pushed it out of his mind. 'Bruce?'

"There's a limit to how much I can do at once, Xander. This is much easier when you're asleep." Bruce sounded oddly out of breath.

So much for being Super-Xan. Still, any degree of advanced healing was pretty cool. Jonathan and his other fellow nerds would be impressed if Xander could tell them. As for Cordelia's crowd, well, eat your heart out, rich and pretty people – here's one thing money can't buy.

Xander gradually upped his speed to a more reasonable pace. His muscles felt quite warm – was that Bruce's doing, or was it natural? Did it matter? His stomach was achingly empty. Xander wanted a distraction, but he wouldn't speak up first. Let Bruce choose a safe subject. Xander could wait.

And wait. And run, and wait. And wait some more. Xander was just about to crack when Bruce finally spoke up. "What do you want to do with your life, Xander?"

'Kill vampires,' Xander replied promptly. 'Be a good friend. Survive high school. Maybe get a girlfriend?'

"And after high school?"

'I'll execute my three-step plan.' Xander rolled his eyes, and almost tripped. 'Kill all the vampires in Sunnydale, something something something, profit!'

"You'll need to make a living somehow."

'I'll be the Indiana Jones of vampire hunters, hunting for treasure in crypts, mugging vampires for my daily bread. What's up with all the questions, Bruce?'

"Answer my question, Xander."

Xander ran for a moment in silence. Finally, he replied, 'I don't want to work at Doublemeat Palace, okay? But it's not like I'll have a gazillion job offers after I graduate. We don't have enough money for me to go to college even if there were battalions of flying pigs around and I got accepted somewhere. I'm no jock, and definitely no Willow. Even with your help halfway through junior year is too late to get my grades together. There's no way I'd get any scholarships.'

He dodged a couple dressed in their Sunday best, and ran on. 'I just know my friends are going to leave me behind. It's not easy being green, Bruce. I think I'm becoming more of a green-eyed monster than a Kermit. I don't know what to do,' he admitted.

"You have a year and a half. Now is time to start planning."

'What do you think I should do?'

"Take jobs that advance your other goals. Manual labor would build your strength; computer sales would get you discounts on electronics. Working in a machine shop would give you access to tools for making weaponry. You'll need a day job if you want to be hunting vampires at night, or work with a flexible schedule. Be creative, Xander, and open: there's no shame in taking on temp work if it gets you what you need. You can always jump ship when something better comes along. And I wouldn't rule college out just yet."

'Easy for you to say, Mr. Billionaire,' Xander replied, but his brain was already starting to churn with ideas.

"As for your real job, are you a soldier or a vigilante?"

'What?' Xander's brain did not compute.

"You said you wanted a secret identity. Why?"

'Uh, so the things that go dust in the night won't know who I am?' Xander thought cautiously. 'I don't want my work to follow me home.'

"You've been working with the Slayer for most of a year now. I think the major players already know who you are."

"But what about my friends? I'm supposed to keep you this big secret."

'Don't fool yourself, Xander. Do you really think they wouldn't connect the dots between your new fighting prowess and a mysterious new demon hunter in town? The more secretive you are, the more likely you are to attract their attention. Why do you really want to have a secret identity?'

Xander suspected that 'Because all the cool kids have one' was not going to cut it with Bruce. 'Vampires are a cowardly and superstitious lot,' he thought instead. 'I need an identity that will intimidate them.'

Bruce actually laughed at that one. "Xander, vampires deal with demons all the time. If you seek to kill, not keep under control, there's something to be said for being underestimated. Didn't you say that Buffy uses herself as bait all the time?"

'I'm not Buffy.' Xander clenched his teeth. He hated being laughed at.

"Good," said Bruce. "It's about time you realized that. Xander," Bruce paused for a long moment. Finally he said quietly, "Xander, you don't have to hide who you are in order to hide what you do. The mask can be useful, true, but it can also be a liability. In your case, I think it would do more harm than good."

'You mean I'm not good enough to be a Robin.'

Xander felt his blood pressure spike for a split-second before Bruce regained control. "Xander. You're not listening to me. You just mentioned that you're not Buffy."

"No sex change operation in the last few minutes, so I'm going to have to go with a no."

"Are you me?"

Xander felt his heart clench. He hadn't expected Bruce to actually say it out loud. He let out his breath. There was really only one answer he could give, and putting it into words eased something deep inside of him. 'No. No, definitely not. I mean, we're headmates, but I'm me, and you're not me. I'm still me. And that made much more sense in my head.'

"Good. And because you're not me, you have different strengths and weaknesses than I do. So the choices that were best for me might not always be the best choices for you."

'Says the genius billionaire martial artist—'

"Says the man whose only real friend was his elderly butler!" The words hung there in the air between them. Neither Bruce nor Xander said anything for a long moment. "The mask isolates you. In my case, that was acceptable, even desirable given … my solitary nature. But you aren't solitary. You're … social. You have people you can trust."

'Who trust me to fetch the donuts.'

"They'll learn to trust you with other things. But they need you, and more importantly, you need them. You're not a vigilante."

'I'm not? But I'm not a cop or anything. I don't have an official license to kill anything. Though I bet I could get a discount on an animal one from Uncle Rory. He has contacts.'

"Would you go to the Sunnydale police after being attacked by vampires?"

'No,' replied Xander. Where was Bruce going with this? If he wasn't a vigilante, then what the hell was he?

"Why not?"

'They'd think I was making it up. They don't know about vampires.'

"Really? A town this size with this many vampire attacks, and the police don't know anything about vampires?" Bruce sounded skeptical.

'We call it the Sunnydale effect.'

"I call it a basic failure of the state to protect her citizens. Or corruption in City Hall. Do human laws apply to vampires?"

Xander knew there wasn't anything about the supernatural in the US Constitution. Or was there? Maybe there was a secret clause somewhere that started, 'We hold these Vampires to be a self-evident Plague upon Humanity, and disqualified for holding and enjoying any Office of honor, trust, or Profit under the United States. This shall not be construed so as to affect the power of Congress to lay and collect taxes on income from whatever source derived.' Vampires paying taxes. Now that was crazy talk. Who would collect the money? A secret branch of the IRS?

'Uh, I don't think so,' thought Xander, coming back to the conversation. 'They aren't human. They don't deserve rights, just a permanent death penalty in a court of law.'

"Xander… never mind. A virtuous vigilante acts outside of the letter of the law in order to preserve its spirit."

'Come again?' said Xander.

"Vampires aren't criminals," Bruce said. "They aren't the responsibility of the police. If Buffy is judge, jury, and executioner for the supernatural, she's the law, not a vigilante. You're part of her team, so you aren't a vigilante either, barring a little moonlighting on the side."

'Can't a vigilante be judge, jury, and executioner too?'

"By definition no vigilante has legitimate power; there's no authority being delegated by the state. It's a good question, however. Who gives Buffy the authority to kill vampires?"

'Her mystical destiny?' That was a lame answer, but Xander hadn't really thought about this before. He was pretty sure Buffy hadn't either.

"Who knows the rules about her calling?" Bruce pressed.

'Giles. He's her Watcher.'

"Who does Giles take orders from? Where did he learn the rules, and who created them in the first place?"

'The Watcher's Council? I dunno much about them, just that they live in tweedland and probably drink lots of tea. Unless they're all ex-punk bad asses like John Constantine – nah. They're probably the ones who converted Giles to the cult of scones and stuffiness in the first place.'

"ConstanTINE, Xander, not ConstanTEEN," corrected Bruce. He sounded distracted.

Xander turned onto his street. Now for the hard part. He shifted up into a sprint, holding it until he passed his house, then stopped, bending over and panting for breath. Bruce nudged him back into a light jog for a few minutes, then finally let him stop. Time for a shower; the rest could wait.

* * *

Much to his disgust Xander spent most of the day on homework, even getting ahead on his assignments for the week. He kept a wary eye on the clock. By the time his mother called him down for dinner, his shoulders were a single knot of tension. He sat down in his usual spot, the demilitarized zone between his mother and Tony, and wished to be anywhere but there. Soon they were all sitting at the table, a parody of domestic tranquility.

Xander swallowed, but he knew Bruce was waiting. It was time. "I was, uh, hoping to start using the basement. For practicing. I'm learning some basic martial arts at school, and I need another place to practice. When it's dark. 'Cause it would be bad to do it outside. 'Cause there's, uh, muggers and, and people on PC. Bad. Very bad. So can I use the basement?"

His mother passed him the peas; they were overcooked and unappetizing. Xander piled them onto his plate anyway. "I don't see any problem with that, honey, as long as you're not punching holes in the walls."

Tony grunted. "You'll have to pay rent."

"Tony," said Xander's mother.

"The boy needs to start learning that he can't be a free-loader forever. As soon as you turn eighteen, you're out of here."

"Tony, don't be that way. He's our son."

"That's what you say."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean." Xander tell that she was starting to get upset. He remained silent, staring down at his plate.

"You know what I'm talking about. How else would a wife like mine get a promotion at the bank? I bet you've been spreading your legs for every man in town."

"At least I have a job, you son of a bitch."

"Fuck off. Nag, nag, nag, that's all you do. It's called Worker's Compensation. I'm trying. I go out there every goddamn day, and it's the same story everywhere. They want younger workers with good backs. They want to hire people like him," here Tony pointed his thumb at Xander. Xander flinched. "That's all you'll ever be good for, _son._ You'll spend the rest of your life doing backbreaking labor just like your old man, and for what? So you can support a slut and a lazy good-for-nothing boy who might not even be yours and be sneered at by all the snobbish fuckers who run the town. The 'Right People'. The Chases, the Goldenbergs, the fucking Fallbrooks and the Irvine-Whittiers. They've never done an honest day's labor in their life. Who do they think they are? God's goddamn gift to humanity?"

"They are better than you; they don't drink the family money away. Do you think I like working at the bank? Seeing old classmates pretending they don't know me or giving me pitying looks. My god, I can't believe I ever married you. My mother—"

"Here we go again," said Tony. "It always comes back to how I wasn't good enough for your family. Well if you hadn't fucked things up—"

"My mother," she said, raising her voice sharply, "My mother warned me this would happen if I married beneath me. But I thought we had something; I thought I was in love. Jesus, you used to have some dignity, you used to have some plans for the future before you climbed into that goddamn bottle and never came out. I heard you were drunk on the day of your accident. It wasn't an accident at all, was it? You just wanted an excuse to sit around on your ass and collect welfare from your former boss."

"To my wife Jessica," Tony raised his beer. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have to drink so much."

Xander had heard variations on all this before. They could go on for hours.

"Can I use the basement?" he asked quietly.

"Go ahead," Tony sneered. "Buff up the resume 'til it shines. You're too dumb to get into college, so why try?"

Xander got up from the dinner table and left the room. He could eat later. Behind him, he could hear his parents continuing to fight.

"Just because you didn't get into college doesn't mean Xander won't. He's my son, and I got into some very good colleges. I should have gone. I should have dropped you immediately like the piece of slime you are and left Sunnydale right after high school."

"Go right ahead. You can leave any time. Oh, that's right. You don't have any college education. Your job at the bank is a pity job. You don't have what it takes to get a real job. I'd like to see you working as a salesgirl or a seamstress. Get your lily-white hands a little dirty. Or maybe high-end escort would be a better—"

Xander closed the door to the basement, and started down the stairs. 'So how 'bout them ninja moves?' Xander said, with painfully false chipperness. Don't say it, Bruce, please don't say it.

"We'll begin with learning how to fall," Bruce replied. Thank god. He could stand anything but pity.

"I know how to fall; I am an experienced faller. It's the next part that makes me want Life Call. 'Help!'" quipped Xander under his breath in his best approximation of an old lady voice, "'I've fallen and I can't get up!'"

Bruce patiently walked Xander through a number of basic falls. Literally walked him through. He used Xander's body to demonstrate each move, always beginning with a quiet "May I?" before assuming control. First he would let Xander's body fall, and in the falling manipulate it into a specific recovery at full speed. He would have Xander describe what Xander felt had happened. Then Bruce would put Xander's body through the motions again, this time breaking the move down into chunks and explaining what he was doing, exaggerating each twist and pull of muscle to show Xander how he did it so well, encouraging Xander to asking questions. By the time Xander tried himself, he had an echo of muscle memory to guide him.

It was both terrifying and exhilarating. Every time Xander relaxed to let Bruce take control, he said 'I trust you' with his body. 'I trust you to catch me when I fall.' He felt like laughing; he felt like crying. There was such a freedom in letting himself fall, over and over and over again, knowing that Bruce would be there every time. It took Xander a moment to recognize the foreign emotion: for the first time in a long time, he felt perfectly safe, perfectly secure.

He had a mentor. He had a future. He was learning how to be a badass martial artist. That was more than enough. Being a superhero had always been a dream, one he'd shared with Jesse; reality was different. In real life, dreams didn't come true. Friends died. The good guys didn't always win. When Bruce came along, well, Bruce was different too. But that made him real in a way 'Batman' could never be.

Bruce was real. Xander would never have to face this house alone ever again. No dream, however cherished, could measure up to that.


	8. Knight and Squire (Pt. 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YAHF. Alfred would be proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The crew of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, as do various references to particular quotes. Likewise, Batman is owned by DC Comics, and ultimately Warner Bros. This work is intended for non-commercial purposes only, and is otherwise covered by a Creative Commons Attribution license. Specials thanks go to Kierkegaard and Christopher M. Drohan.
> 
> Thanks also go to my fabulous beta, MoragMacPherson. This fic is cross-posted at 'Twisting the Hellmouth' under the same username.

**Chapter Three: Knight and Squire**

Part Five

 

"Xander." Giles sounded surprised. "I must admit that you're the last person I ever expected to see here by yourself."

"NOBODY expects the Xander Inquisition!" joked Xander as he made his way further into the school library. "Amongst my weaponry are such diverse elements as fear, surprise, merciless humor, an almost fanatical devotion to Hostess Cakes, and a decided lack of nice red uniforms. Y'know, if we're fighting the undead on a nightly basis, we should at least get a been there, done that t-shirt. But not a red t-shirt, because I have no interest in being a redshirt on the Hellmouth."

"Xander," said Giles. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to drop by and see my favorite G-Man." He hesitated at the library table, then went to lean against a nearby bookcase instead.

"I told you not to call me by that abominable nickname."

"Giles, Giles. You need to work on your command of American Slang Language. It's a pun, see? G-Man like an FBI agent. That's what the Watcher's Council is, right? A supernatural FBI?"

"If you consider a Byzantine international organization with a sacred purpose and thousands of years of history and tradition to be just another jumped-up government agency, why yes, I suppose it is."

"See, I learn something new every day. You never talk about your secret club, and I'm curious like a cat. Who runs this Watcher Council gig?" Xander inquired as casually as he could manage.

"None of you ever asked. The Watcher's Council is ultimately, uh, run by a board of directors, currently chaired by Quentin Travers. He heads the middle generation of the European conservative branch, and is, well, this would take quite some time to explain, and maybe the use of that new-fangled whiteboard Buffy has stashed somewhere. To put it short, the Watcher's Council's administration makes the British political system seem logical and even-keeled, and pre-revolutionary Chinese bureaucracy straightforward. I've had nightmares about writing out my Watcher's Diaries in triplicate."

"It must be pretty big then, and rich."

"To put it mildly."

"Was it hard to become a Watcher?"

Giles sighed, and took off his glasses. He gently massaged the bridge of his nose, then shot Xander an unexpectedly sharp glance. "Contrary to popular belief, I do occasionally leave the library, Xander, and I make an effort to stay abreast of school events. I am well aware that this is Career Week. Are you asking these questions because you are seeking employment with the Watcher's Council?"

'Uh,' thought Xander.

"Go with it," advised Bruce.

"Maybe," said Xander. "Yes."

Giles absentmindedly pushed his glasses back onto his face. "Do sit down, Xander. You're giving me a crick in my neck." He paused while Xander gingerly took a seat, then continued on. "While your, uh, recent efforts to improve your schoolwork are laudable, I'm afraid outside admission to a Watcher-track course of study at a major university is a bit beyond your current level of scholarship.

"You have many admirable qualities, Xander: warmth, loyalty, courage. You connect well with others. But, uh, the Council does not reward warmth." Giles' hand groped around for something in his pile of papers. It came up with a whiteboard marker, which he stared at blankly for a moment before tossing it aside. He refocused on Xander, and seemed surprised to see him still there. "Uh, the political infighting is vicious, to be frank, and there's rampant nepotism. It would be very hard to come in as an outsider. Even with my family connections, I had a different time of it; the Council does not look kindly on Watcher candidates 'associating' with, uh, uh, an alternative scene. I'm not sure it would be the best fit for you."

"I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to be so honest with me."

"I'm not trying to be harsh, Xander. There's more to the Watcher's Council that just the Watcher's department. Come to think of it, you might want to try Special Operations. There are some hundred-odd teams worldwide, and I think you could do very well in one of the former Potential squads. Your new martial arts aptitude would serve you well there. As long as you take appropriate precautions against revealing its source, you should be safe enough." Giles leaned backed in his chair. "Yes, yes, I think that would do very nicely. I would be happy to write you a recommendation if you're interested."

"Wow," said Xander. "I—thank you. I don't know what to say." He thought, ''Appropriate precautions.' He sounds like you, Bruce. Bruce?'

"We'll talk later, Xander."

'Way to be an Intracranial Man of Mystery,' Xander thought back. "So, uh, I'm still interested in what it takes to be a Watcher," he said to Giles. "Humor me."

"After long years of study in ancient and demonic languages, magic, and weaponry, you are assigned to a Potential. You train her, guard her, watch over her. The former Watchers I've talked to say then you wait with a mixture of dread and excitement for the current Slayer to die so that your charge might be Called. It's a sick, twisted business—more so that I ever realized at the Academy. We attended the parties, not the funerals."

"Wait," said Xander slowly. "Are you saying that there are people out there hoping that Buffy dies so that the next Slayer will be Called? Are you fucking serious? I—wait." He had just been hit by a sledgehammer of a thought.

"Xander," said Bruce.

'I know.' "Giles, Buffy already died. Does that mean another Slayer got Called?"

"Good Heavens! That would be completely unprecedented. The mere idea—it would be incredible—I'm quite flummoxed. There was no memo—but Ashby was always such a petty pillock, it would be just like him." Giles stumbled up out of his chair, calling over his shoulder, "I have to make some phone calls, Xander. We'll finish this talk another time!"

'A new Slayer,' thought Xander. 'Huh. Do you think she'll be hot, Bruce?'

"The real question is what she's been doing for the past five months."

* * *

Giles called a full Scooby meeting the next morning before school. Thanks to a little round robin of phone calls the previous night, everyone knew the score regarding a possible new Slayer.

Buffy was in pace mode. "This has a major creep factor, Giles. I'm the Slayer, not some goody two-shoes out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean."

"The Caribbean Sea, actually. Jamaica is located in the Caribbean."

"Whatever. There has to be some mistake. And why does she have to come to Sunnydale? Sunnydale already has a Slayer, thank you very much. I can handle a 'Dark Power' rising myself. It's not like we haven't done it before."

"I'm kinda excited myself," Willow said. "I've never met anyone from Jamaica before. I bet she knows a lot about Obeah." Buffy gave her a look. "Not that she's anything special. Just different."

"Obe—wah?" said Xander

"It's the standard term for what is colloquially know as voodoo," Giles said.

"You do?" asked Xander.

Buffy wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Do what?"

"Remind me of a babe."

"Xan—der," said Willow.

"C'mon, Willow—work with me here."

"What babe," she said in resigned tones.

"Children," Giles broke in, "While this is all very entertaining, we have to focus on the grave robbing Buffy interrupted last night."

"The babe with the power," Xander continued blithely. "What power?" he said in a high-pitched voice. "The power of voodoo," he replied to himself in a deep voice. Then in the high voice again, "Hoo do?"

"Xander!" snapped Giles.

There was an awkward silence. 'I didn't—I wasn't—Bruce, I thought Giles and I had some man-to-man bonding yesterday. I thought we were all buddy-buddy now. Did I read that wrong?'

"There is a time and a place for humor, Xander. Look at Giles; really look at him. Does he seem relaxed?"

'No,' thought Xander. 'He looks tired. Huh. I never noticed he had so many wrinkles before.'

"He's stressed. Don't take it entirely personally."

'Oh.'

"I'm sorry, Xander," Giles said eventually. "This could be very serious. I mean, what i— i— if this was connected to this 'Dark Power' that has been prophesied to rise in Sunnydale? We need to discover what was stolen from that mausoleum last night."

"Field trip?" said Buffy hopefully.

"You could call it that. But someone needs to pick up the new Slayer at the airport this morning."

This is how Xander shortly found himself skipping school to borrow his mother's car.

* * *

Xander wasn't interested in his aptitude test results. Not one bit. He'd been amused yesterday at all the fuss and bustle of his fellow students – as if one test could determine the rest of their life. Ah, Career Week. Judgment Day for Sunnydale High. He already knew what he was going to do with his life; he'd figure out the details as he went.

The test results would have been posted this morning. He wondered what Kendra the Vampire Slayer would be like. Giles said she'd be on the 10:30 am flight, but he was beginning to feel like an idiot with his handwritten 'Kendra' sign. More and more people had streamed by the gates to claim their baggage or hug a loved one or just trudge away from the crowd, but still no sign of the Slayer. Giles had said she'd be distinctive, whatever that meant.

He idly watched the planes go by on the runways. And groaned. A tiny figure had just crept out of Kendra's plane and was currently sneaking across the tarmac. He watched in horrified fascination. Was there really no one else noticing this? Not that security at the airport was particularly tight, but surely there was someone out there responsible for keeping people from getting smushed by passing planes. He looked left, looked right, and walked casually to the Employees Only door to the stairs. He could imagine only imagine what a Slayer who rode around in luggage compartments would do if she got held up by airport security.

As he exited the stairs to the outside, he could see a dark-skinned girl in flashy clothing talking to one of the men throwing luggage into a chute. She was pretty in an exotic kind of way. So much for being the rescuing hero—she was laughing.

"Ya shouldn't be here, little missy. We found one of de handlers unconscious in de hold; de guards will be comin' soon."

"Thank you for the warning. It was good to speak with ya, sir. I only hope the other people I meet here will be so kind." She bowed slightly, and then turned toward Xander. He held up his sign, and offered a sheepish grin. She glanced back at the man she'd been talking to, and then squared her shoulders and walked up to him.

"Ya are...Mr. Giles' associate, yes? I...uh...I hope I will be of service, sir. Me Watcher did not say ya name, but told me dat I should give ya me full and complete trust." She was practically whispering--weren't Slayers supposed to be all bad-ass and confident?

She was wearing her dark, fuzzy hair in a high ponytail; Xander automatically stamped down on the part of his brain that wanted to touch it. "It's good to be a giver. I'm Harris, Xander Harris." He offered his hand; after a pause, she shook it gently. "So, you here to help with the wiggy stuff going down, the 'Dark Power' Giles was talking about?" He led Kendra away from the nice baggage thrower men towards where he thought the parking lot might be. This might take a while.

"Dere is...um...a Dark Power risin' in Sunnydale, yes, Mr. Harris."

"Don't call me dat—I'm no mister. Just plain Xander with no chocolate sprinkles on top. A maraschino cherry would be nice, though." Just one relevant sign, that's all he would ask for. A sign with a big fat arrow pointing towards the parking lot. No Gate A this and Runway 2 that. "So, uh, you speak English pretty well."

"I would say de same," Kendra shot back, "Except I do not tink ya are speakin' English."

"Hey! I resent that. Californian slang is totally English. You sound like Giles." Oh mon, he was good—as they rounded the corner, the glory of the parking lot spread out before him. Just one tiny problem—dere was a very large chain-link fence. Make that a big problem.

"And here we have a parking lot, one of those quaint American customs I love so much. In accordance with our traditions – stretching back nearly fifty years – of mall worship, we build large sacrificial altars of pavement and concrete with little white lines to neatly organize our fleets of cars, without which we Californians would be utterly helpless. I promise this tour of Americana will be much more exciting once we reach the highway. For now, let's take a commercial break to deal with this fence."

He looked at the fence. Ten feet high at least. He looked at Kendra. He looked back at the fence. He looked at Kendra. "So, uh, I imagine you can climb fences like a cat, being a Slayer and all. Think you could give a mere mortal a boost?"

"Dere is a gate over dere," Kendra pointed out.

"But using de gate would be _logical_."

"I do not understand."

"It's a joke; it would be logical to use the gate. Why is no one is appreciating my quips today? I work hard for my daily humor. I know I make it look effortless, but that's because I'm just that good." Xander pretended to buff his nails as they walked.

"Ya are a strange, strange mon."

Not only was the lock on the gate impressively large, but it was also situated on the other side of the fence. Still, Xander knew who to call. "So I've seen Buffy do the strength thing before..."

Kendra gave him a look. "Slayers should work in secret. Would not be very subtle." She pulled a set of lockpicks out of her boot – and mon, were those red pants shiny – and set to work.

"Dere is dat," said Xander, feeling like an idiot. He stood around awkwardly, resisting the urge to peer closely over her shoulder and gawk. He suddenly noticed that his nails were digging into the palms of his hands. He unfolded his fingers to see deep, red crescent-shaped dents. 'Bruce?'

"'There', not 'dere'," Bruce ground out.

''What do you mean, 'dere'?' thought Xander.

"You're being quite rude, Xander."

'Huh? Oh, was I being a lingo sticky tape thing again? I used to do that to Giles all the time. My bad.' What was up with Bruce? It wasn't Xander's fault that he had an ear for weird voices. Willow and Jesse had always thought it was funny that he could do a pitch-perfect imitation of Speedy Gonzalez.

"You really don't know, do you. We'll talk later." Bruce sounded disappointed; Xander swallowed. Stupid enigmatic Bat-people.

Luckily he had an easy time finding his mother's car. He didn't understand what Bruce was talking about; he thought Kendra and he were getting along quite well despite their cultural differences. Sure there were a few awkward gaps in the conversation – who knew that bobsledding wasn't a national pastime in Jamaica? – but she wasn't ignoring him or responding in monosyllables, so he was chalking this one up in the win column.

She seemed a little odd, to say the least. She didn't have any luggage because she tought she was some kind of secret agent from de Watcher's Council traveling undercover. He didn't have the heart to tell her that 'undercover' did not necessarily mean literally hiding underneath something. She was young, younger than he initially thought – she'd been Called just short of her fifteenth birthday, which made her almost fifteen and a half now – and usually travelled abroad with "Me Watcher, Mr. Zabuto." Xander was jealous; she'd been to every continent on the map, including Antarctica, in the course of her Slaying duties. Apparently she worked as an international pinch-hitter for the Council – "A great honor for a Slayer not yet two years Called" – going wherever there was something Special Operations couldn't handle. Go to foreign lands, meet exotic demons, and kill them -- sounded like a recipe for adventure to him. If he survived Sunnydale, realized Xander suddenly, he'd like to do that. See the world, spend a year or two being Indiana Jones before coming back to the States and resuming his mission.

"Are ya an alchemist?" Kendra asked abruptly.

"No? Why would you think that?" Where did _that_ come from?

"Ya feel more solid than just human. Ya remind me of de Council member who came to observe me Slaying; he was an alchemist."

'Bruce!' "And that makes it all much clearer, thanks."

"Scenario Hyena, just like we practiced. And keep your heart rate down--you're getting sloppy," chided Bruce.

"De power de Alchemy confers presence on more de one plane. Ya feel strong."

Xander sped up to pass some geriatric following the speed limit, and then picked another car in the distance to focus on. "Lemme tell ya—you—about the day I ate a pig raw," he started, and went on to recount an edited version of the hyena incident. She didn't need to know about that bit with Buffy.

"But I tought—ya are a civilian. De Watcher sometimes has aides, but de Slayer, de Slayer is supposed to work alone. Is de way it has always been. No civilians. No witnesses. No family, no odders. Is dere someting wrong wit Buffy dat she has dese tings?"

"There's something wrong with you that you don't," said Xander, feeling out of his depth. No friends? What kind of a life was that? He felt a sudden chill at the thought of Buffy being alone that way. It wasn't right.

"Me modder, me fadder, dey knew dey were doin' de right ting. De Slayer has a sacred duty, and it takes precedence over family. I have a picture, but I do not remember dem meself. It is better dat way. Dey would be a distraction."

"Dey would be a strength. I can't believe it. The Watcher's Council really—"

"Careful, Xander," said Bruce quietly. "Don't tip our hands too soon."

"—demands a lot; I can respect that. I respect your sacrifices. The Buffster's just different, that's all. Nothing wrong there, nosiree. She's a Slay-o-matic in between nails, shoes, and the occasional burst of panicked homeworky time. The time we spend at the Bronze is hunting time, really; we have to blend into the local population in order to fool our fanged victims-to-be. You should try it sometime. You'd be a real hit with clothes like those. The shirt is especially, uh, interesting."

"What is wrong wit me clothes? Dis is me fav'rite shirt."

"Uh, it's just a little revealing. And attractive! Very attractive on a lovely young woman like yourself."

"Are ya insinuatin' someting? Dis attracts de vampires—"

"—and people of de—the—male persuasion—"

"—very well. And de allow me to fight freely. It is me Slaying uniform."

"We have got to get Buffy a Slaying uniform," said Xander dreamily. He was already designing costumes in his head. He shook himself out of it and refocused on the road. It would be a shame to crash now without seeing Buffy's face when she met Kendra.

Kendra wanted to hear everything he could tell her about Buffy. He convinced her to swap Slaying tales: Inca Mummy for oni in Japan, giant snake cult for possessed European politician, nightmares come to life for the tale of Kendra's first Slay. He danced around the subject of the Master until Kendra asked him flat out what had happened. She spoke in a sudden uncharacteristic flood.

"I dream dat Buffy is drowning. I feel her die. And den always de dreams stop. Dese stories ya tell, I know only dose dat come before her death. After, she is not'ing. It is unnatural. A Slayer's deeds should be memorialized in de dreams forever so dat me future sisters will know her and honor her. It is our right. I know Buffy will die better next time. She should be remembered for her second deat not her first. She is de first of us to come back. Please, I wish to know how."

"I gave her CPR. You know, the breathy kissy thing where you push down on someone's chest and hope to God you're not too late because she's too still and too pale and her hair is floating like a halo of a place she's not supposed to be. Uh. Y'know. CPR," Xander finished lamely. "Angel called it the kiss of life. He's kinda froofy like that. He said afterwards that's why he couldn't do it himself, him being a vampire and all."

"Angel. You mean Angelus? I've read about him. He is a monster."

"Hey! Angel's our friend! Except I don't like him."

"Why would he want to be helpin' Buffy?" Kendra demanded. "Dey are natural enemies. He is a vampire. She is de Slayer."

"Together they fight crime! I mean, natural enemies, that's exactly why dey—they—shouldn't be dating. It's just not natural. She should settle down with a nice warm-blooded boy her own age."

"Buffy has a boyfriend? And Mr. Giles allows dis? De Slayer's Handbooks is very clear: we are not to be in de company of young men except those who assist our Watchers. Young men are not--" She suddenly fell silent; when he glanced over, he thought she might be blushing, though her skin color made it hard to tell. He turned his eyes back to the road to give her some space.

"Leave it to Buffy to find a loophole," Xander said lightly. "Angel is an older man. If the gods were kind, he would be as wrinkled as Rumpelstiltskin. Alas, they are a cruel and capricious lot: he looks like a movie star. Not that I spend much or even any time looking. He could be wearing a gorilla suit for all I care. Y'know, come to think of it, the jury's out on whether Angel's still considered a man. Ha! I bet Buffy never thought of that."

"I do not know what to think," Kendra said after a moment's pause. She was back to being quiet again. Xander fought a sudden urge to lean over and give her a Willow-hug. "This is not what I expected. I must consult wit Mr. Giles and meet me sister Slayer before I judge dem." They drove for a while in silence. Sunnydale was close; it would not be long now.

"You are not what I expected eider," Kendra said suddenly. "I tought one of dey Council's knaves would be taller and more handsome. No wonder Mr. Giles did not give many details."

"Hey!"

* * *

"Watcher's Council this, Slayer's Handbook that. You're in Sunnydale now, sister--we do things the Scooby way." Two Slayers in one room—Xander was waiting for the catfight to get physical. Buffy's inner bitch was making a fine showing, while Kendra was in full Ms. Perfectly Dutiful Slayer mode.

"Mr. Giles, is it not de Slayer's duty to assist in de research of her Calling?"

"Normally yes. However, Buffy is, well, some accommodations have to be made," said Giles.

"Giles!" protested Buffy.

"Buffy, you yourself just said a moment ago, uh, that you, I quote, 'kinda lack in the book area'. You can't have it both ways. Now that Kendra's here, we—we can afford to spare you for an evening. Go get some rest."

"Fine," said Buffy sulkily. Xander concealed a grin. "Books are boring anyway. See you guys tomorrow."

She left in a hurry. Willow looked torn, but soon settled back down into comparing notes with Kendra. Xander had told Kendra quite a bit about his best friend in the course of his manly storytelling, and he'd been sure to emphasize Willow's breadth of knowledge once he caught onto the fact that Kendra was a complete bookworm. A bookish Slayer. Now there was a type he never thought he'd encounter. Where Buffy was constantly in motion, Kendra was self-contained, almost deliberate. She looked at home in the library poring through pages of musty old books. He would have thought that she would hit it off with Willow right away, but Willow was being a bit reserved. Then again, he knew Willow's first loyalty was with Buffy, and Buffy was not getting along well with Kendra, to say the least. Heh. There was a limit to how much Willow could resist the presence of a fellow book-lover—she and Kendra were currently bent over two books right next to each other, whispering back and forth.

"Xander," said Bruce. "You're not making much progress here either. Let's try another angle—the vampires themselves. Surely there's someplace in town where the demons congregate and vampires sip blood. If they frequent a bar of some kind, they might let slip something about why they stole the Du Lac Cross. You could likely find an information broker there."

'An excuse to leave the research party early? Bless you, Bruce, and the horse you rode in on.' "Hey Giles," Xander spoke up. "What about Willy's? We could buy rumors from the Snitch."

Giles replaced his glasses on his face. "That's an excellent idea, Xander. There is some money in the Watcher budget allocated for, uh, bribery. Go ahead and make a visit to the demonic pub in question and—and secure what you can of the gossip."

Kendra looked up from her book. "Me tinks Xander will be gettin' himself into trouble alone. I am an expert in all met'ods of information gathering. I will go. He can show me de way."

* * *  
A Slayer and a Xander walked into a bar. Xander just hoped the punchline wasn't an actual punch in the face.

Willy's bar occupied prime real estate in the semi-abandoned area of Sunnydale's industrial park. Businesses lured in by the low local property taxes tended to build and run, leaving behind empty office buildings galore. A red fluorescent light flickered above the door; Xander knew from experience it could only be seen if you knew it was there. It was always on, even in the daytime, and Willy's bar was always open during the day. Since most of his clients were nocturnal, day was the new night. The bar closed every night around two hours after sundown, which would have been a good time to visit. Five pm in the afternoon was not; the remaining patrons would be quite drunk and raring for a fight.

Time to chin up. As they descended into the depths of Dante's Smoldering Ashtray, Xander saw a number of demons ranging from the almost human to the pants-wettingly terrifying. There were also three tables of vampires in various stages of drunkenness. Wait—could vampires even get drunk? Were they having Bloody Marys or something?

A small man stood behind the bar mixing a blood-red drink. There was salt involved, and small shiny black things. And Tabasco sauce. Xander made an executive decision not to think about it too hard.

"Hey kid," said Willy the Snitch, glancing up from his task. He stuck a cocktail umbrella in the drink without looking and slid it over to a particularly morose-looking vampire sitting at the bar. "Long time no see. Who's your lady friend?" he asked, nodding towards Kendra.

"I am Kendra de Vampire Slayer."

"The Slayer?" Willy said in a loud voice. The vampire at the bar started, staggered upright, threw down some money, and practically fled out the 'Employees Only' door in the back of the room. Xander suspected there was a sewer entrance back there somewhere. Other patrons exited more discreetly until there were only a few left. "Kid, I'm so sorry about your friend. I hadn't heard. That Buffy, she was really something."

"What?" said Xander, "Oh, Buffy died _last_ year. She got better. That's why we have a Dynamic Duo instead of an Unsleeping Uno here in town."

"Two Slayers, huh? Well, y'know, the people here, they're, uh, good people. Don't cause no trouble or anything, not that I make any claims about their mothers, god forbid. This is a clean establishment; we don't serve, uh, minors of any species, no offense meant Miss."

Kendra stalked towards Willy, saying over her shoulder, "Xander, dis one is dirty. I can feel it."

Willy backpedaled both physically and verbally. "Of course, for a Slayer, we can always make an exception. A whole lotta exceptions. How about an Iron Edward? Free on the house, no charge, only for the best for the best in the business." He backed straight into the bar, cringing.

"Xander," said Bruce quietly. "The demon in the back of the room." Xander spotted a particularly ugly monster in a corner starting to rise from its seat, droopy skin firming into a snarl. He tensed; Kendra was still focused on Willy--but Willy was giving the demon a subtle little shake of his head no. If it wasn't for Bruce, Xander would have missed the whole exchange.

"De Du Lac Cross," Kendra demanded. "What have ya heard about it? I know ya are in de business. Do not try to pretend odderwise."

"I'm, uh, I'm not part of that scene anymore. I'm living right. I eat vegetables, that kinda thing."

Kendra shoved Willy against the bar and thudded his head to the counter top, spilling glasses. The room held its breath. Words spilled from Willy's mouth unabated. "If I had information, theoretically mind you, not talkin' practical, I would, uh, need some bucks for relocating expenses. Strictly budget travel, no motel ladies or fancy drinks."

Bam! "Tell me." Xander winced in sympathy.

"Spike would kill me if I said a word! I gotta think of my immortal soul, go to church some more, pray to—" his voice rose in a squeak "—God and get my last rites. I don't have a lotta rights right now, I could always do with some more. Ow! God as my witness, you are one relentless lady. I can appreciate that in a woman. Hey, you ever thought of doing some modeling? I have a friend with a camera—" BAM.

Willy went limp. Kendra shook him a few times before Xander stepped in.

"An expert in all met'ods of information gathering, huh? I think you've done enough."

"He could be fakin' it," she said, but allowed herself to be turned away. Xander looked around the room once, not sure what he'd do if someone took up the challenge, and found his eyes meeting those of the ugly demon who'd almost intervened earlier. Xander tilted his head towards Willy, quirked his eyebrow, and shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly. The demon nodded ever so slightly back.

A Slayer and a Xander left a bar. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be back. No joke: Xander fully expected to be blacklisted from Willy's fine establishment.

* * *

Ever the conscientious slayer, Kendra insisted on a quick patrol before walking Xander back to his house. It was getting late. Xander wondered if he could convince Bruce to give him a pass on the next morning's run, before dismissing the idea: he had made a commitment, and he would see it through if it killed him. Unless, of course, he got killed by vampires first. The second option was looking more likely, given the group of vampires that had just materialized out of the night.

"Oo, a brown one," said a miniony-type one. "Wonder if she tastes like cinnamon."

"Really, guys? What's next in your witty repertoires, brown sugar jokes? It's the nineties, come on!"

He barely avoided the lead vampire's first punch. He hesitated before following Bruce's advice to run, and got the second one right in the shoulder. His whole left arm went numb as he automatically sat into the fall and rolled out of it to his feet. Another vamp coming at him from the right, Kendra fighting two ahead, trees shielding them from the road, mausoleums galore, bad fashion everywhere, time to dart to the left and forward, charge one of Kendra's vampires, lead his straight into the end of her stake, and god that hurt. He'd led with his bad shoulder. They ended up on the ground together in a decidedly compromising position. Xander quipped about the gay and used the vampire's instinctive freeze to grab at one of his stakes—it had snapped in the fall, but still usable--and push it home. The sudden absence of a body dropped him a few inches to the ground.

Xander sneezed in triumph at the vampire dust, and rolled over onto his back. Kendra seemed to have the last two vampires in hand. He laid sprawled in the grass, a rock digging into his side, and waited for his heart to stop exploding out of his chest.

It was always so sudden, that's what it was. He liked the adrenaline rush, but there was such a large portion of his brain gibbering in sheer terror that it was hard to enjoy it. He could empathize with the grim determination Kendra was currently demonstrating against the vampires. At this point in his vampire-slaying career, he was just glad that his instinct was to fight, not freeze up. Much. Actually, he thought he'd done quite well, though he wasn't sure he could replicate his performance.

The ground was comforting. Nice ground. And there went the last of the vamps. Dusty vamps. Okay, time to get the brain jumpstarted again. Xander pushed himself up off the ground, and hauled himself to his feet.

"Ya fall well," remarked Kendra. She wasn't even breathing heavily.

"Danks," said Xander with a wry smile. "Thanks. I've had lots of practice."

He brushed the dust and dirt off his clothes, and gestured for Kendra to go first. And that was when the screaming started.

A boy sprinted into view not twenty yards from where Xander was standing. A trail of blood running down from a tear in his jacket arm, shoulders heaving, the boy screamed a pitch-perfect note of despair that just went on and on. Xander started forward, but Kendra laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"It is a demon. We should not interfere."

Xander hesitated, torn. A demon? But he looked so human.

A huge white thing of teeth and claw flashed into view immediately behind the boy. It happened so fast that Xander could hardly follow it: a slash of razored paw, a spray of dark liquid, and the screams stopped abruptly. And then there was no thing, no white monster, only a body crumpling to the ground.

Xander dry-heaved. "That was—why did you—"

"Let dey demons kill each other off—it is better dat way. Is justice."

"Is murder," said Bruce, his tone grim and final. "Murder, Xander, and you did nothing to stop it."


	9. Knight and Squire (Pt. 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The crew of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, as do various references to particular quotes. Likewise, Batman is owned by DC Comics, and ultimately Warner Bros. This work is intended for non-commercial purposes only, and is otherwise covered by a Creative Commons Attribution license. Special thanks go to Kierkegaard and Christopher M. Drohan.
> 
> Thanks also go to my fabulous beta, MoragMacPherson, and to the wonderful folks over at the TtH forums, who helped me refine some elements of my Kendra characterization for this chapter.
> 
> Cross-posted at 'Twisting the Hellmouth'

**Arc Three: Knight and Squire**

**Part Six**

 

Xander tasted acid. ‘Dammit Bruce, there wasn’t anything I could have done! I can’t—I just can’t deal with this right now. We’ll talk later.’

“We will,” said Bruce, and not a word more. Thank god.

Xander couldn’t help himself; he had to start walking towards the body. He felt irresistibly drawn to it.

“What are ya doin’? Dat noise, de odder demons will be comin’ soon.”

The moon was almost full, and it cast a strong light. There were harsh shadows thrown by the tombstones. So dark they drew the eye, little wormholes of dark to somewhere dark and deep and bad.

“Demons eat demons,” Kendra said, hurrying to catch up.

“What?” said Xander absentmindedly. He stopped abruptly when he reached the body and turned away. “Oh god.” The look on the boy’s face. Turning away didn’t help: the minor splatters of blood on the tombstone in front of him pulled his attention to other tombstones almost soaked in red so bright it looked movie set fake. The look on the boy’s face.

“Xander,” said Kendra. “Xander, it is a demon. Do not concern yaself.”

“But he looks so human,” said Xander to himself. He couldn’t help himself: he looked back at the body again. He took it in, bearing witness. He realized that the boy was actually close to his age, though smaller. Dark, somewhat greasy hair and a bone-white face--must be the blood-drain. The glassy eyes were wide, the mouth slightly open. Ill-fitted tough-guy clothes--a patched leather jacket, workman’s shirt, pants of some dull color or other, one shoe. The other foot was slashed and bloody--the boy must have run it ragged. He had been terrified. He had been screaming a pitch-perfect note of despair, and Xander had not shouted to him, had hesitated. But he was a demon. He looked so human, though. The look on his face. There was blood pooling underneath the body, and Xander realized to his horror that he was standing on grass sticky with blood. There was so much blood.

Kendra’s hesitant hand on his shoulder brought Xander back to himself. “De ones dat look like humans, dey are de worst. I hesitated once--de monster took de form of a child. When next I saw it, it was, it was biting off de head of a human baby. It was all me fault. I hesitate no more. Dese are monsters; it is me job to kill dem before dey kill people. We should go.”

“I wanted to be a demon-hunter,” said Xander, letting himself be led away. He felt numb. This was Sunnydale, home of the monsters; he’d seen plenty of horror before. A fleeting image of Jesse disappearing into dust flashed into his mind, but he pushed it away. This was entirely different; the boy was a demon. Jesse had been a vampire, whispered a traitorous part of his mind. Vampires are demons. Demons deserve no mercy. Angel is a vampire; Angel is different. Vampires are monsters. “I want to kill all de vampires in Sunnydale. I will kill all the vampires in Sunnydale.”

“Ya should apply for a license from de Council, den. Become a demon hunter. Mr. Zaputo has used dem for information before. Some hunt for bounty, odders for vengeance.”

The light was very strong, and the shadows were very dark. He realized that Kendra was looking at him with some concern. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Sorry. I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Xander the Sleepy Agent, that’s me. So baby-eating demons. That’s...that’s just horrible. Tell me more.”

“I am forgettin’ meself,” replied Kendra as they walked. “Should be quiet on patrol. I will tell ya of de kishme anodder time.”

It seemed like no time had passed when Xander found himself back at his front door. He hesitated for a split second, then relaxed and opened the door, stepping inside. He had nothing to fear: Bruce was with him.

* * *

Xander dressed on automatic. He still had the taste of his dreams lingering in his mind, unsettling journeys through places of soft grays. It was strange; he almost never remembered specific colors from his dreams. Usually it was all plot. He missed the adventure dreams he used to have as a kid: the stories he told himself while he was waiting to fall asleep had often continued in weird and surprising ways in his dreams. He remembered waking again and again with a sense of loss, wanting to go back and play. He’d never told Jesse that the adventure dreams had been better than any video game.

The sky still had traces of red threaded through the sky; the streets were surprisingly quiet for a Wednesday morning. Xander waved to the newspaper boy as he ran past, but didn’t stop to chat; he didn’t feel like talking. He noticed things about the houses and cars lining the street that he’d never seen before, little details that his eyes skipped over when everything was familiar. It was strange; he felt disconnected from it all, like he was still in a dream. Only the blood pumping through his veins felt real.

He couldn’t avoid this forever. ‘It was demonicide at best, Bruce, not murder.’ The look on the boy’s face. ‘Demon boy was killed by a wild animal demon. End of story.’

“You didn’t see it then,” said Bruce. “The demon was looking at you. It turned its head, smiled, and kept looking at you while it cut the boy’s throat. That thing was sentient.”

‘I told you demons are evil,’ Xander thought. He felt tired. ‘I told you. Demon killing demon? I dunno. Isn’t that supposed to be a net gain for the forces of truth, justice, and the _homo sapiens_ way?

“The boy was a victim. We only have Kendra’s word that he was a demon.”

‘Hello, Slayer? Expert on all things spooky and evil? I’ll take a Slayer’s word over my unsuperpowered eyes any day of the week. Besides, Kendra takes this Slayer stuff way too seriously to mess around with it.’

“Think about it Xander,” Bruce said in that reasonable tone of voice that Xander knew boded ill. “How did Kendra know what she sensed was a demon? I think she has to interpret what she senses, and she’s gotten it wrong before. She thought we were an alchemist.”

‘To be fair,’ Xander thought as he neatly skipped around a black truck exiting a driveway, ‘I don’t think disembodied superheroes haunting people’s heads are necessarily covered in the Slayer’s Handbook.’

“If Kendra needs a Handbook to understand what she’s sensing, then it’s not all instinctive. Someone is telling her which supernatural beings are evil and which are harmless. And that someone could be lying.”

It only took a few more steps for Xander to turn onto the cross street, squinting into the sudden harsh light. ‘What, you think the Watcher’s Council has some kind of big conspiracy going on and that demons are really just misunderstood creatures with hearts of gold?’ Xander cut across to the shadowy side of the street. ‘Newsflash, Bruce: demons eat people. We’re at war, and hey, I’m proud to be part of the good fight. We couldn’t do it without a Watcher. Giles has proven himself over and over. I don’t know what your problem is, Bruce, but I’m sick of it. I trust Giles, I trust Kendra, and I definitely trust Buffy. No matter how hard you try, you won’t change my mind.”

“You trust the people you know personally. Fine. I don’t trust the Watcher’s Council,” retorted Bruce. “Think of the type of power it takes for an organization to field a hundred teams of commandos worldwide! Either the commandos are so good that they can avoid any military in the world or the Council has secret agreements with just about every country on the map. There are secret Watcher-track courses at major universities—the Council must have influence with those administrations, and through them their students, the crème de la crème. And the Council controls the Slayer line. Think of Kendra. Raised in isolation, trained to be a lethal weapon, told she has a sacred destiny that must be kept secret from people who are not part of the Council. She is completely loyal to her Watcher and the Council. If she wasn’t Chosen, would she have joined one of those ‘squads of former Potentials’ Giles mentioned? Xander, the Council has an army of women just like Kendra. An army they can field anywhere in the world.

“Who watches the Watchers, Xander? If the Council isn’t corrupt, I’ll eat my nonexistent hat.”

Despite his pumping blood, Xander felt a sudden chill. _Are you saying that there are people out there hoping that Buffy dies so that the next Slayer will be Called?_ ‘They have all the cards. How could we possibly fight that, Bruce? What’s going to happen to Buffy? And Kendra! She’s just a kid. She should have a life, not a death wish. What am I going tell them?’

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Xander turned again, this time onto a sunless street. ‘I can’t do that, Bruce. They deserve to know they’re in danger.’

“Do you want to get them killed, Xander? It’s too soon. We have to start small. We need outside sources of information; we need allies; we need proof. And you need to stop blindly assuming that every supernatural being you run across is evil.”

In a world suddenly askew, Xander clung to a few essential truths. ‘Demons are evil. Evil things are, uh, evil. And therefore of the bad. As in really bad, kill-on-sight bad, and definitely never ever be friends bad.’ He took the left back towards his house with a huff of relief, now running with his face away from the light. He liked Daylight Savings Time; he really did. He just preferred running in the almost dark.

“Who says the boy was a real demon?”

* * *

“Kendra,” said Giles. They were gathered in the library, waiting only on Buffy. Willow looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Are you sure he said Spike?”

“Yes, sir,” said Kendra, standing in a loose military-style position. She was looking straight ahead. “De informant said dat Spike would kill him if he talked. Dat is all I got out of him.”

Xander restrained himself from commenting on why, exactly, that was all Kendra could get out of Willy; he didn’t exactly want her to bring up his own reaction to the demon boy’s death. The look on the boy’s face...Xander shook it away. That was then; this was now. They had a problem to solve.

“But what the devil is Spike trying to do?” Giles pulled off his glasses, groped around for something to wipe them with. His hand found the whiteboard marker again. “And why does this always turn up when I’m polishing my glasses?” He set the marker aside. “We know vampires stole that book by Du Lac from my personal collection a few weeks ago. And now Spike has the Du Lac Cross. Obviously he wants to translate something. But what?”

“If I may interject, sir,” Kendra began.

“What does it matter?” said a voice by the bookshelf. “I say we go kick Spike’s butt back to the Dust Ages. Dark Power averted, Du Lac Cross recovered, and no more ugly men trying to kill me when I’m on a date.”

Giles raised his eyebrow. “On a date?”

“Giles, you’re missing the point,” said Buffy as she stepped forward into the light. “There was this guy--he must have been a demon--who tried to kill me. I want sympathy, Giles, sympathy, and maybe a little chocolate too. If it wasn’t for Angel, you’d be stuck with just Kendra here, and she’s not me. She can’t do what I can do. No offense, Kendra, but I’m outta your league.”

Kendra dropped her military stance and straightforward gaze to glare at Buffy. “What league would dat be den? De league of--” Kendra paused and visibly collected herself. “Me apologies, sir. It is not proper for a Slayer--” here she cast a sidelong glance at Buffy “--to argue in front of her Watcher. I do not understand why Buffy keeps startin’ it.”

“Do restrain yourself, Buffy,” chided Giles. And on went the glasses. Xander had a private bet running with Buffy about how often they could get Giles to polish his glasses in one conversation. Three was currently the magic number, and Ms. Calendar was the best conversational subject to get there. He doubted, however, that Buffy was trying for it now given her expression. Giles continued. “Were there any identifying marks to this creature aside from being, uh, how did you put it, an ‘ugly’ man? And how did you kill it?”

“Well,” said Buffy, glancing at Kendra, “He was big, uh, ugly, kinda ogreish actually, long shaggy hair and surprisingly clean teeth, and--oh!--blind in one eye. I had to slit his throat with my ice skate, which, lemme tell you, more than a little disgusting. He--” The look on the boy’s face. Buffy was _supposed_ to kill demons. “--eight feet tall at least. But, y’know, not anything a _real_ Slayer couldn’t handle.”

“Ya needed Angel,” retorted Kendra. “A Slayer dependin’ on a creature of de night to save her. It’s a good thing future Slayers will not dream of ya fightin’. Would not want dem to get de wrong idea.”

“Children, really,” said Giles tiredly. “We need to f--focus. Buffy, what makes you think this is connected in any way to Spike?”

A foot lightly kicked his leg. “Xander,” whispered Willow. “Is everything okay? You look a bit pale, and you have the strangest expression on your face.”

“What'chu talkin' 'bout, Willis?” Xander whispered back. “There ain’t nuthin’ wrong.”

“Anything you’d care to share with the class, Xander?” Giles had a mildly sardonic look on his face.

Buffy cut in. “Actually, I have something for show and tell.” She held out a grimy dirt-encrusted gold ring, and dropped it neatly into Giles’ cupped hand. “It had Angel majorly freaked. He said something about the ‘Order of Teriyaki’. Care to expound, Watcher mine?”

“Not the Order of Teriyaki,” Giles said. He brought the ring up to his eyes, adjusting his glasses with one hand help focus in better. His hand began to tremble ever so slightly. “The Order of Teraka.” Giles lowered his hands with a sigh as he leaned back into his chair, leaving the ring on the table. “I only wish it were some meat-eating demon cult with a fondness for Teriyaki sauce. No, Angel was right to be worried. We have to find you somewhere safe to stay as soon as possible, Buffy, at least until we come up with some plan on how to proceed.”

Buffy crossed her arms. “First Angel, and now you. What’s so bad about this Order of the Ugly One-Eyed Men?

“De Order of Teraka,” said Kendra. “An ancient Order of assassins from de times de Solomon de Wise.” She sounded like she was reading out of a textbook. “Dey are sworn to de god of de hunt; dey have given all up but de desire to kill and fulfill deir contracts. According to Dramius, dey live by dis credo: sow discord and kill de unwary. Dey are a formidable foe, Buffy; dey will keep comin’ one by one until de job is done.”

“Wonderful,” said Buffy sarcastically. “Just what I needed: a secret society of stalkers out to kill me. As if life wasn’t complicated enough.”

Kendra’s eyes met Buffy’s. She looked as serious and as earnest as Xander had ever seen her. “Worry not, Buffy. If dey kill ya, I will take up ya stake and avenge ya. And if dey kill me, anodder Slayer will be sent to take me place.”

“Can I say how reassuring that is not? Hold your horses, rookie: I’m not dead yet, and I intend to stay that way. Giles,” she said, breaking Kendra’s gaze, “What do we do? How do I fight these things?”

“Haven’t you been listening, Buffy? They will only stop coming when the contract has been fulfilled and you have been e-eliminated. You can kill as many of them as you like; there will always be another one. I just need to think. Think, there must be some way to stop this.”

Bruce’s voice whispered by Xander’s ear. “The contract is the key, Xander. Contracts can be broken or cancelled. Who would have a motive to contract the Order of Teraka to kill Buffy?”

“Spike,” Xander said. “Uh,” he stuttered as everyone turned to look at him. “Buffy said to kill Spike?”

They looked at Buffy. She held up a finger. “One. We know from Willy that he’s up to something.” Another finger joined the first. “Two. There is a Dark Power risin’ in Sunnydale,” she said, doing a terrible imitation of Kendra’s accent. “Three. I foil evil plans for a living. Except no one pays me.” Buffy bit her lip thoughtfully. “Giles, why is that?” She pouted. “I should totally get allowance or something. Ergo, four. Spike doesn’t want to risk us, specifically me, Slay girl, stopping the Dark Power risin’, so he calls in the big guns. How am I doing so far?”

“Very nicely, Buffy, I’m quite impressed,” said Giles. Buffy shot Kendra a triumphant look. “I agree that the timing is rather suggestive. Still, it’s not a threat we can afford to ignore. Spike’s stratagem, if it is Spike’s stratagem, will succeed if we don’t get you to some secure location. We still need to figure out how to deal with these assassins.”

‘See, Bruce?’ Xander thought. ‘Giles does care. He puts Buffy first.’

“_Giles_ cares,” Bruce said, and left it at that.

“I’m not just going to run away like some scared little girl, Giles,” Buffy said. “I’m the Slayer. I say we take the fight to Spike and get this over with.”

“If you know where Spike lives, Buffy,” retorted Giles impatiently, “I’m all ears.”

Xander sensed Willow stir at his side. “Buffy, what about Angel?” She tucked a piece of her red hair behind her ears as she leaned forward eagerly. “Doesn’t he have contacts with the dark and the creepy? I bet he could find out where Spike’s den of iniquity is easy-peasy. He could help us fight him too. ”

“Yeah, all he has to do is brood in Spike’s general direction, and Spike will be the one running away like a little girl,” muttered Xander. The others ignored him.

Buffy brightened at Willow’s implication. “Good idea. Excellent idea! I’ll go get Angel, you guys keep doing the planning thing. Whaddaya say, Giles?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have another fighter of Angel’s caliber around if it comes to a physical fight.” Giles’ voice softened. “Do be careful, Buffy. You won’t know who the assassins are until they attack; they could be anyone, even a human. Keep an eye out for single individuals acting erratically--each one will be working alone.”

Buffy nodded, and went for the library doors. “Wait!” called Xander. She paused, looking back. “You shouldn’t go alone. I mean, it was a good thing that Angel was there the first time, and you know I don’t say that lightly.”

“Step lightly,” advised Bruce. “Buffy won’t listen if you make her look weak in front of Kendra. She has a reputation to maintain.”

“Uh, well, so what do we have that the assassins don’t? We have each other; we don’t work alone. Teamwork took down the ogre-man thing. Teamwork can take down the others too. If we’re Willow-smart about it”--he grinned at the girl next to him in question--“and work together, we can beat this thing.”

Willow smiled back; the others looked at him as if he had grown two heads. “Go on, Xander,” said Bruce approvingly. “You’ve got the right idea.”

Xander felt the weight of their attention like a tangible thing. For Buffy, he thought, and looked Giles directly in the eye. “It’s not a death sentence, Giles, or a run-for-the-hills life sentence. And I think Buffy’s right too: if Spike’s the one who took out the contract in the first place and we dust him, couldn’t that break the contract?” He looked from face to face, urging them to believe him. “Or maybe if we cut off the money somehow. Something. We’ve got some major brainpower in the room; we can figure it out. The point is, we all need to watch each other’s backs until we’re out of the danger zone. That includes you, Buffy.” Xander held his breath.

“Maybe you should have been the one to get ‘motivational speaker’ on your aptitude test, Xander, not Cordelia.” Buffy wasn’t immediately dismissing the idea; that was good. “I don’t want to put any of you in danger, though--the assassins are coming after me, not you, and I can’t protect you and fight them at the same time.” She sounded grudging, but thoughtful. Excellent. He just wished she would recognize he could fight too.

“I can go wit ya,” Kendra offered unexpectedly. “I can take care of meself.” She looked to Giles. “With ya permission, sir?”

“Of course,” said Giles. “Thank you, Kendra. It would certainly set my mind at rest.”

Buffy shifted back into motion. “Well, if you’re coming, come. But just until I find Angel, okay? You don’t have to stick around. In fact, please don’t.”

“Do ya have a disguise, Buffy?” asked Kendra, not moving an inch. “De assassins are findin’ ya somehow.”

“Somehow I neglected to bring my I’m-Not-A-Slayer-Don’t-Hear-Me-Roar costume with me today. I can’t believe I forgot it.”

“Costume,” said Willow slowly. “Costume! Buffy, Halloween--what about a glamour of some kind? I bet Ms. Calendar could help.”

Buffy and Giles exchanged glances.

“Uh, that’s really not--”

“Ms. Calendar is--”

“You go first,” said Buffy.

“Erm, well, a--a magical disguise of some kind, any kind, might be a hazard for Buffy as opposed to a help. Order of Teraka assassins will be trained in detecting and circumventing magic. It would be like painting a mystical beacon on her back. No, a mundane camouflage would be much safer, much more effective in delaying pursuit.”

Buffy nodded vehemently. “What Giles said. Anyway, I can swing by home after I find Angel and pick some things up.”

Shortly after the bell rang, and the meeting broke up. Buffy and Kendra sneaked out the back, while Willow and Xander did their best to inconspicuously edge out from the library doors. Principal Snyder had been on a warpath ever since Xander and Buffy’s respective field trips the previous day.

* * *

Xander didn’t hear the doorbell ring, but he did hear Tony’s bellow. “Boy! Someone at the door.”

He considered himself for a moment: drenched in sweat, panting, wearing loose exercise clothing. He’d been learning some basic katas from Bruce to the sound of the dryer gently swishing in the background. The basement really wasn’t much. Despite Xander pushing the desk into a corner, hanging up Tony’s dusty old hand tools, and dealing with years of his parents’ accumulated junk, the usable space was still small and somewhat dank, a far cry from the vast space and sleek equipment of a real Batcave. But Bruce never commented on the conditions; the closest he came was a matter-of-fact instruction to Xander to find a used mirror somewhere so Xander could see his various stances for himself.

If he answered the door like this, it would certainly raise questions. If it was one of the Scoobies, though, he could probably pass it off as practicing Halloween-derived Batman fighting skills. Xander wouldn’t mind rubbing their faces in it a bit; it still smarted that Giles had effectively dismissed him after school. Sure, he wasn’t the best researcher, but with Bruce’s help he was getting better. When Willow found that book describing the stolen Du Lac manuscript, though, Giles said they didn’t need him anymore. Not today, or rather tonight. Xander consoled himself with the thought that they would definitely need him when it came to fighting Spike and Spike’s goons. He wasn’t some Cordelia who had nothing to offer...except a car. Dammit. Xander really wanted to have his own car.

Up past the bead curtain, quietly up the stairs. Despite his irritation at the interruption, Xander was growing curious. It was quite late for anyone to call. Even Sunnydale residents not in the know tended to avoid the nighttime open season on humans in town. He walked by the living room, ignoring Tony and half-listening to the voices on the TV--something about the police offering a reward for information about the murder of Aaron Kavosh?, flipped on the hall light, and opened the door to the dark outside.

“Kendra,” said Xander in surprise. “What are you doing here?” She looked terrible in the light spilling from the hallway behind him.

“Mr. Giles’ dwellin’ was too far away,” she said. Her voice was very quiet. “May I come in?”

“Are you a vampire?” asked Xander, half-jokingly. Kendra seemed to take it seriously; she put her arm over the threshold in a very deliberate manner, then withdrew it. “Of course you can come in. What’s up?” He looked at her more closely; the scratch on her forehead was weeping blood. Now it was Xander’s turn to be quiet. “You’re bleeding,” he realized aloud. “You’re bleeding from a shallow wound.”

“I have also lost me strength. I am not healin’ properly, and I have lost me strength.” She stepped stiffly inside the house, and Xander automatically scanned the street before closing the door. Movement caught his eye--three figures swaggering up the sidewalk from past old man Brooke’s house. Vampires.

He shut the door hastily, and turned to escort Kendra to the kitchen.

Tony’s voice drifted out of the living room. “Who is it? Is it that pretty little redhead? She’s too good for you, boy.”

“It’s, uh, just a friend, that’s all,” Xander improvised. Kendra looked startled. “Her parents are away and she accidentally got locked out.”

“I don’t want any whoring in my house, you hear? Get a motel room.” Xander felt himself beginning to flush under Kendra’s steady gaze. He would have given a great deal at that moment to have her far, far away.

Swallowing his instinctive response, Xander silently led Kendra down the hall. Better to keep his head down and not give Tony the satisfaction of provoking him into a fight, especially not in front of a--well, friend was not quite the right word. They were definitely more than casual acquaintances at this point, though. She might be friend material if she ever got over her Slayer of the Year award take on life.

“So,” Xander said as he busied himself pulling out first aid supplies, “What happened?” He deliberately kept his back turned.

“Poison, I tink,” Kendra replied. Her voice was tight. “Was sent on patrol in place of Buffy. Me senses told me dat dere was someone followin’ me, but I could not shake him. I failed me training. I was not able to avoid all de darts he shot at me.” Something rattled on the table. “De ones dat hit me dissolved, but I caught one dat did not. Mr. Giles will analyze it. He will know what to do.” She sounded like she was trying to reassure herself.

“She didn’t get those injuries from blow darts,” observed Bruce.

“There were vampires outside,” said Xander conversationally as he pulled out the bandages. “Is the arm broken?”

“Yes.” She did not elaborate.

“It must have been hard, realizing that you couldn’t fight them on equal ground,” he went on. “Bet you only figured it the first time you tried to punch one.”

Kendra was silent.

“Right,” Xander said. “Giles will know what to do.”

He went over to the phone, only to have it ring shrilly before he even picked it up. “Harris House of Pizza,” he joked automatically.

“Xander,” said Willow. “Thank god.”

Xander swallowed. “Did one of the assassins--?”

“No, Buffy’s okay. She’s a little shaken, but she’s okay. No, they got Angel.”

“What?”

“A bunch of vampires and some big yellow spike-throwing demon thing attacked Buffy and Angel at his apartment. Buffy killed the demon, but they kidnapped Angel.”

“Where is Buffy now?” asked Xander, visions of Buffy running off alone in a mad quest to take revenge spinning through his head.

“She’s at Giles’ place. There was something about a bug man at her house? Anyway, we’re holding a war council first thing in the morning.”

“Kendra was attacked too.”

He heard her gasp over the phone. “Oh no!”

“I’m going to drive her over to Giles’. She’s been poisoned.”

“Oh my god. Maybe I should go too. Giles might need my help.”

“I can pick you up on the way,” he offered. If Kendra died--

“Xander,” Willow said. “We know what the Dark Power is. Spike’s trying to heal Drusilla, and they need the blood of her sire to do it.”

“Angel. _Angel._ No wonder they kidnapped him.”

“Giles reckons the ritual happens tomorrow night on the full moon.” Willow was obviously in focus-ville.

“Let me get this straight,” said Xander. “We’ve got twenty-four hours to save Kendra, rescue Angel, stop Spike, and keep a bunch of bad-ass assassins from killing Buffy.”

“That’s right, mister.”

“Well then,” he said, letting a wave of calm determination wash over him, “I’ll be right over, Willow. Let’s get this party started.”


End file.
